Tri harder

Maeve’s maxim of blogging: The blog-ability of an event is directly proportional to percentage of adults in spandex. It’s true of American Gladiators and it’s true of triathlons.

I must have been suffering from too much self-esteem because I decided to do a triathlon this past weekend. Seriously, the combined body fat of the four participants on either side of me was about 7%. I’m sore today…but I think it was just from sucking in my stomach for three hours. (I USED to do these all the time, but that was before I retired to devote more time to my new wine tasting hobby.) =)

Now I LOVE telling people I did a triathlon because they immediately think of an Iron Man. Well, just to give you some perspective…in the hierarchy of triathlons, Saturday’s race is known as a Tin Man triathlon. The race involves a 350 yard swim that finishes in the kiddie pool of the McMinnville TN rec center. You’re not so much worried about huge ocean swells as you are dodging that unpredictable mushroom fountain.

Now that I have figured out how to insert pictures into my blog posts [ummm, click on “insert picture”?]…I can actually show you the event:

Doesn’t this just look like a massive cluster#@%# ? It’s actually not…these people with their towels and buckets and whatnot take their racing very seriously. Not to mention that there is about $600,000 worth of equipment in this little playpen of fitness. That is no joke. Half of these people have completely tricked out bikes…like a $7,000 bike with $1,500 of contraptions latched onto it. Not me, I do NOT need a bike payment just so I can go 60 seconds faster. In fact…if you are looking for my bike shoes, they are the size 9 jobbies with the binder clip holding the Velcro fastener in place.

Honestly…I am NOT in the same league as people who finish these things in say…78 minutes…check out “Exhibit A” (I’m participant 268):

What does this picture tell you? a) I look as if I have never seen a bike before b) I’m not even headed in the right direction and c) there really is a binder clip on that left shoe.

I’m going back to wine tasting =)

Exiting Kentucky

Nothing exciting going on here today…so as I leave Lexington, I will just blog about my very favorite Kentucky joke…

Why don’t they teach sex ed and driver’s ed on the same day in Kentucky?




It’s too hard on the mule.

=)

And her trusty sidekick...

Okay, I’ve officially become one of those people. Dog people, that is. I suspected I was heading for such a fate when I bought Molly the matching collar and leash. And by matching, I mean matching MY outfit. But now that I have brought Molly with me to the Lexington Doubletree (the Hampton Inn doesn’t really meet Molly’s standards), I have succumbed to the stereotype. Here are some things I have noticed during my dog-accompanied stay at what used to be a nice hotel (but has really gone to the dogs) =)

• Molly treats the fourth floor hallway like one giant dog run. Mostly because I open the door and tell her “it’s your dog run!!”
• Going for a walk in the hotel hallway is all fun and games until you come across someone’s dishes from room service (those big, silver dish-covers make a TON of noise when tossed aside by a feasting dog).
• There are a lot of dogs staying at the old Doubletree…but then again, there are a number of visually impaired individuals here as well. Molly does NOT understand “that you are not supposed to play with the doggies who are at work”
• My white dog does not like black people. WTF. She comes from Appalachia, so I am blaming it on that. Seriously, I am mortified to report that she happily walks right by a dozen front desk people only to attack the night manager. Every time she sees that poor guy she pins him to the wall. Do they have doggie diversity classes?
• The floor of the hotel elevator is a smorgasbord of crap. It’s amazing what Molly can lick off the industrial grade carpet during the short ride to the lobby. (I don’t even stop her – wouldn’t I make a great mother?)
• A dog’s bark echoes really, really loudly in a hotel atrium. “It’s a beautiful wedding, please don’t let us interrupt”

Suitcase sanity

I have to apologize. See…the McConville’s are the reason all of you have to pay extra for your bags when you fly (we’re probably ALSO the reason you have to pay for your drinks now on international flights....but that’s a different story altogether). I took my mom and sis, (along with the contents of their respective homes) to the airport on Saturday. Without exaggeration…pound for pound…mom’s suitcases will cost 7x more to fly to Ireland than my mom.

Which means loading the car to go the airport takes a strategy and a shoehorn (as well as someone else’s car). People start rolling out suitcases and you don’t know if they’re EVER going to stop. “Honestly, people – we call those things garment boxes, not suitcases. In order for it to be a carry-on…you technically have to be able to carry it.” I keep telling mom they sell cigarettes in Europe – but I am pretty sure one of those bags is a mobile discount tobacco store.

Getting every suitcase into the car is like a game of Tetris…there is ONE combination that is going to work and you are going to spend 45 minutes and 300 calories loading and unloading the car until you come up with that combination. But at least everyone is standing right behind you offering their helpful advice.

And don’t forget…this blog entry will self-destruct upon subjects return to US airspace…

Kentucky Castle

You know how we sometimes say “wow, that guy lives in a castle”…and we’re talking about some McMansion with four bathrooms? Well, not in Lexington, by god. The Kentucky Castle (picture below) is a private residence in Lexington, KY. [again…I CANNOT make this stuff up]

How would you like THAT in your cul-de-sac? Apparently, some East-coaster’s wife [was SOMEBODY’S favorite movie “Shakespeare in Love”??] wanted her rich-beyond-sense husband to take their role-playing a little too far and permanently ensconce her as Guenivere. She got divorced (beheaded?) before the thing was completed (probably due to arguments over building.a.castle.in.Kentucky).

I mean, I KNOW Kentucky bears a certain resemblance to the middle ages, but that does NOT mean you should build gun turrets. I, for one, would like to encourage a renaissance. I mean…does building such a castle make you the monarch of the moronic? Maybe we have finally found King Cheney’s undisclosed location.

I know I am giving Kentucky a lot of grief but 1) it’s Kentucky and 2) I come from someplace called Kentuckiana…which tends to make you a little bitter. I mean…how low do your test scores have to be before you form a regional cooperative with Kentucky? Kentucky (or Hoosier) jokes are about the least offensive commerce that goes on between the two states (seeing as Kentuckiana is the geographical equivalent of a meth lab).

Although it is inexplicably going to remain as a private residence, the Kentucky Castle owners plan to rent it out for special events that can be conducted in “medieval-like” splendor (bubonic plague is extra). So now I FINALLY know where we can celebrate Rita’s big birthday next year. =)

Chik-free-a

Driving “home” (i.e., to the hotel) from the office on Friday, we drove by a Chik-fil-a parking lot FULL of pitched tents and campers. Now…I know this is Kentucky and camping in a strip mall parking lot is probably a tradition handed down from generation to generation…but it still looked pretty odd. $4-a-gallon gasoline and it’s Hoovervilles in the heartland.

It looked to me as if a crowd of Deadheads were all on their way home from Bonaroo with a bad case of the munchies, if you know what I mean. But my co-worker explained that Chik-fil-a (or “CFA”, as they like to be called) gives free food for a year to the first 20 customers at each of its grand-openings and all these people were camping out to be the first customers at the Lexington CFA. [I CANNOT make this stuff up.]

This crowd looked like they could use some free fast food. The median age must have been about 21 and the absence of shower facilities did NOT look like it was causing much concern (chicken camp-out or an Obama rally?…take your pick). I just wondered how the smell of incense was going to affect the food.

The whole time I am watching this, I’m thinking…“It’s.fast.food. You’ve relocated to a parking lot in hopes of dodging the 99 cent menu?!?” Sheesh, what would you do for a Klondike Bar?? But these people were having the time of their life…a veritable chicken carnivale. Even the CFA “Eat Mor Chikin” mascot was there…we’ll call him “Gallows the Cow”.

To top it all off…the local news was covering the event! Listen people – you are within driving distance of Noah sailing through a corn field and you are covering this fiesta of fowl?!?

Then we drove by this morning and just like that…they.were.all.gone…off in search of more free waffle fries.

Missing posts

Sorry to miss TWO posts this week for my paying, loyal, BORED readers. And I missed making entries despite being in the midst of the cultural phenomenon known as Kentucky (the mullet is ALIVE!). But it’s been a slow week – or maybe I’m just building a tolerance to triple-shots of Starbuck’s espresso. I DID try blogging each night this past week…but I ended up with 3 straight blogs about that $%#@ live band.

I am, however, committed to blogging every day next week…after all, my mom & sister will be out of the country so I can blog with impunity (or immunity – whichever). Of course, who are we kidding…Nicola “the Help Desk” McConville probably has an alert to “ping” her across the globe at the electronic mention of her name. At which point, I will get bad computer karma until I blog about how great her dog is and she lifts the hex. =)

But maybe with my mother tucked safely away in her homeland I can FINALLY blog about her side-swiping my brother’s brick mailbox (I mean the one that used to be there). You would be amazed at how evenly matched a Buick is to a brick edifice. [Nicola – NO FAIR printing this out for mom before you guys go to the airport!!!]

So stay caught up on your blog-reading because I will sooooooooooooo be deleting THIS entry before my mother returns.

Postcards from Lexington

Greetings from Lexington, KY. You would think the state of Kentucky would be ripe for all SORTS of blog material – but I guess my blog filter is still set uncomfortably tight after last week’s surgery recuperation =)

Flying into Lexington is a little like putting down directly into a plantation. I feel inclined to disclose the news of the industrial revolution to these folks. The horse-farm-to-trailer-park ratio is about four to one. Incidentally, city ordinances here in Lexington require frequent and awkward usage of thoroughbred horse references. Man O’ War International Airport [Really? You’re naming your airport after a horse…doesn’t that seem self-defeating?], Triple Crown Parkway, Seabiscuit Arena. The Most Exciting Two Minutes In Sports Lounge has the shortest happy hour I’ve ever seen. I don’t know about you, but I’m just hoping that injured auditors in Lexington don’t get euthanized.

The hotel, however, is not as idyllic as the scenery. The Hilton Garden Suites sits in the middle of the Chukkas retail/office/restaurant complex on Secretariat Boulevard alongside the lovely Run-for-Roses man-made lake. The setting is just charming….until.you.hear the adjacent restaurant’s LIVE BAND wafting up the perfect, Carnegie-Hall-like acoustics of the Garden Suites’ five floors. I mean like bionic woman perfect acoustics.

If I didn’t already have an iPod full of bad cover music, I could make a perfect bootleg tape [more stocking stuffers?] from my hotel room. And can I just ask…is there some cover band credo that requires you to play “Margaritaville” every hour, on the hour??!?! When I phoned downstairs, their response was… ”Don’t worry…they.only.play.til.10” Can three chords really sustain them for another 2 hours?? So each night, I get exactly.the.same 4 hour montage of Bob Seger/Travis Tritt/Jimmy Buffet. It’s like being trapped in a week-long wedding reception. I can barely hear American Gladiators over this ruckus. I don’t know if I will be able to fall asleep to anything other than “WE LOVE YOU LEXINGTON!!”

American Gladiator

Is there still a TV writer’s strike on??? Because I just discovered that the newest installment of reality TV includes American Gladiator! Exactly who’s reality is this?!? And it’s not even on cable. NBC can’t fit the national political conventions into its primetime lineup, but it can sponsor a bunch of grown (and over-grown) men in spandex running around an adult-sized version of your 4th grade field day?

For those of you unfamiliar with the American Gladiator tv show (and based on its reflection on me… I hope that’s MOST of you) – the show consists of several earnest contestants trying to complete various buffoonish obstacle course events that go by the names “Eliminator” or “Travelator” or “Governator” [oh wait]…while their families look on proudly (?). And they must do this while being blocked & obstructed by the steroid-fueled likes of “Mayhem” and “Justice” and the rest of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. If you win, you are officially qualified to staff the “bouncy castle” at any four-year old’s birthday party.

The show also contains little cross-promotional tie-ins like…”Test your gladiator skills with our on-line challenge!” Seriously? Do you think you can pull this show’s demographic away from the “Jackass” website? Maybe we could use the “Gladiator on-line challenge” as a Trojan horse for some GED prep questions and actually do some good here???

This year’s incarnation of Balco’s American Gladiator is hosted by Laila Ali. Did someone sell their soul to the reality-tv gods? I mean…that woman owes someone her extra fifteen minutes. (Was she a star before her captivating American Gladiator turn or is hosting a juiced up version of the Village People the tantalizing reward for a dancing championship?)

The only thing more depressing than watching American Gladiator, was discovering that it is merely the lead-in for “America’s Got Talent” where Sharon Osbourne is the final arbiter of skill and performance.

You’re not lawwfffing vewy hard

Now that we have completed a full week of recovery from elbow surgery and everyone’s sense of humor is ummm….returning….i think we can safely [I hope] describe subject matter that was clearly NOT funny during earlier stages of the recovery:

The Vicodin Haze. All jokes about a drug-addled state are especially unfunny when someone is actually IN a Vicodin Haze. All subsequent entries should be considered through the lens of said Vicodin Haze.

Nicknames. The one-armed bandit. Stoney Bird. Handicapable. Really – NONE of them funny.

I told you so. This one ain’t funny on a good day. It doesn’t matter WHAT you are saying “I told you so” about [EVEN “If you would have just let me grill the chicken the way I wanted to, I am pretty sure that we never would have caught your ace bandage on fire.”] – it ain’t funny.

Driving Miss Daisy. I think it must be the Jessica Tandy/Morgan Freeman associations. But this one’s a tough call for the pain-med-lovin’ patient because while it is clearly not funny, the jokester is the one who.can.drive.

Showering frequency. I think the less said about that the better (I mean…MY judgment isn’t Vicodin-impaired).

Mrs. Clean

Holy moly…I met Rita’s cleaning lady yesterday. Think Rosaria from Will and Grace without all the charm. And she.was.not.happy.to.see.me. (I frequently have that effect on cleaning ladies, but not in the first five minutes!) Apparently, Julieta likes to clean an empty house [good morning?] While I ASSURED her I would be outta the house as soon as I had to join my next conference call…she was NOT okay with it. At one point I heard her yelling at Rita in Spanish…and Rita doesn’t even speak Spanish. I almost demanded to know who was working for WHO here…but then I wisely realized that NOBODY was working for ME, and to keep my piehole shut.

Seriously – we are talking a 4’11” military junta here. (why are the tiny ones always so intimidating – Nicola?) =) We eventually negotiated a demilitarized zone in the office…but exit privileges were NOT part of the settlement. About three hours into the six hour (!) cleaning, I was ready to pull a Shawshank Redemption. That’s when it happened…Julieta opened the washing machine to discover that SOMEONE had left a pen in their pants pocket. [gulp] If any of you have seen my wardrobe containing a disproportionate number of shorts/pants/pajama bottoms with an ink stain right below the hip pocket…you know that Rita is TERRIBLE about washing my clothes with a pen still in the pocket =) =) =) [I don’t know exactly HOW many smiley faces I need in order to blame it on the girl in the cast…but that is EXACTLY what I did]

I KNEW I’d get Rita fired by her cleaning lady…I just didn’t think it would be on the very first visit.

Don't call me

Rita’s house seems to have a solid-lead block stopping all cell phone signals. Seriously…I keep wondering if I am in an underground bunker. Which is just great for business. Now every work call goes something like this…“hello? HELLO? Who is this – Bob? What?? Wait a second, I’ll step outside. Can you hear me? Can you hear me now? How bout now? Oh wait…I think I lost you. #%#$@ What? You can hear ME?” Bob would be the CEO of the Company I am working for…nice.

By the time the call inevitably drops, you’ve already used half your monthly minutes and you haven’t even said anything – that I’ve heard anyway. At first, I thought standing outside was the answer…but then I found myself repeatedly roaming the driveway at 5 in the morning (8 in Philly) while still in my PJs desperately trying to point my cell phone at what I hoped was a passing satellite. I’ve really classed up the neighborhood. And for the record…the sprinklers at Rita’s house come on at 5:15 in the morning…just.in.case you are wandering through the yard in your PJs at that hour.

So then we had to start using the home phone service in combination with the world’s LARGEST phone. One of those old slim line models that everyone used to have. You know the one…you spent your high school years talking on it with its awesome two feet of mobility. I can join a conference call or go for a diet coke, I can no longer do both. It’s amazing they eventually found a way to put a whole QWERTY keyboard on a phone, because they could barely squeeze 10 digits on the old variety. And when you put the cradle next to your face…it’s slightly akin to nuzzling up to a snow ski. I feel like a three year old talking on Mickey’s first phone.

And quite simply, Mom – THAT’S why I haven’t called more.

Rita's surgery (2 of 2)

Okay…so ONE more tale from the surgery waiting room (where I was just happy that there were no “World of Disney” scrubs)

One young guy brought in his wife with their two-year-old daughter and asked “is this the pickup/drop-off location?”. Well….you would have thought this poor schmuck had just wandered onto the set of “Steel Magnolias” with the way these old nurse-hens gave him a hard time. “Did you hear that M’Lynn, ‘pickup/drop-off location’ – what do you think this is, Best Buy? What is she – your large screen TV??” Then another catcall from Nurse Claree - “Pickup/drop-off location!?!? Were you hoping for a drive through?” ha, ha, ha. After about 3 minutes, they realized HE was the patient, not her. Ummm…har dee har HAR? Meanwhile, SHE has had enough of Truvy’s beauty parlor and is ready to GO…”when do I have to be back? THAT early? I mean shouldn’t I wait until he comes out of anesthesia or something?” Feel the love. Of course, she was probably thinking the same thing I was…I have a Power of Attorney and a debit card…which way to the mall?

But you have to love those out-patient surgery centers. They are all about getting the patients in and out. Slash and cash. By 2 p.m. the day of the surgery – those nurses were ready.to.go. Last call for albuterol. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. So here is poor Rita…slowly waking up and stoned outta her head, groggily watching me do my Marx brother impression as I get tangled up in an IV pole and nearly trip over the $300,000 EKG machine. I am SURE she was thinking “Hey – what’s the rush???” The whole time the guy next to us keeps asking repeatedly for a margarita in his IV drip – apparently not realizing that percocet actually makes you LESS funny…

Rita’s surgery (1 of 7)

Okay, okay – just kidding on the 1 of 7…but elbow surgery is still a pretty ridiculous proposition. First of all, not eating for twelve hours before surgery does NOT put a patient in the proper positive-energy mindset…now does it? In a demonstration of support, I tried to go “NPO” (?) with Rita, but was incredulous that they could ALSO mean coffee. Seriously? Maybe I’ll just eat less with you, Rita …that sounds supportive, doesn’t it? =) [smiley face?]

Secondly, you better really, really like whatever you wear to the surgery clinic because you’re not getting that elbow through another shirtsleeve for days. We’re talking a uniform of sweat pants, flip flops and huge stretchy shirts. Rita looked like she was going to her sentencing. I, on the other hand, looked like I was going on a field trip (hey – I was anticipating a long day in the waiting room!). My little rucksack was jammed full of granola bars, laptop, newspaper, apple and of course, People magazine(s)…because what is a trip to any waiting room without a few People magazines? (I, for one, think little Shiloh is getting the raw end of that United Nations of a family.) Seriously, you would have thought Rita was having total body reconstructive surgery based on how many provisions I packed into that waiting-room wheelie bag

Finally, the clinic’s pre-operative goal seems to be to make the patient look as ridiculous, I mean COMFORTABLE, as possible. You have those white, anti-clotting stockings, an inexplicable hair net (are they expecting the health department inspection today?) and this best-ever inflatable hospital gown. No joke, one of those paperish gowns that you plug what looks like a hair dryer into and it inflates with warm air to keep you toasty. Holy cow…steal a stack of those for the house. Who CARES if you look like the Michelin man....

Tune in tomorrow for things NOT to say during surgery preparation/recovery =)

No post today

Hello all,

There is no post today as it is Surgery Day - a household holiday. I thought I could either draft a blog or be on time for Rita's surgery....

I will update everyone later to let you know how things go. Subsequent days' updates will take the form of blog entries... =)

W.'s memoir

Omigosh…have you all been following the news about Scott McClellan, Bush’s former Press Secretary? You know who I’m talking about…the guy who’s secret service name had to be “Theodore the Chipmunk”. Holy cow…the guy has written (or more likely dictated) a tell-all book on the Bush administration with the stunning revelation that the President misled us into war (he thinks this is a revelation?).

Proving that he does NOT understand the concept of tell-all memoirs (amongst other concepts) George W. has decided to write his own tell-all book about his time in the administration. Among the shocking revelations (you may have to watch Jon Stewart to understand a couple of these...)

• It wasn’t until he was in office that he found out that all Executive Orders had to be counter-signed by the Vice President
• Rumsfeld often made Bush call him the Secretary of Fun
• Dick Cheney wore that same damn cowboy hat to all the White House pool parties (or wait…was that me?)
• He and Nancy Pelosi had a torrid weekly bridge game
• Performance enhancing drugs were rampant in the administration
• The President is as dickish as he seems
• Dick Cheney and the president haze all new cabinet members by stuffing them in Cheney’s man-sized safe.
• Condi Rice?...loves Lean Cuisine.

Has anyone seen my...

I am Motorola’s dream demographic. I can’t keep track of my passport…so forget cell phone power cords. How exactly does one lose a cell phone power cord (or more accurately 35 cell phone power cords)? Listen…I can lose shoes while I am still wearing them – so a power cord is NOTHING. But it usually involves the intention of packing the charger on a trip without the actual execution of packing it (so a lot like Bush’s foreign policy). There’s a reason they sell power cords in airports, y’know. This little packing mishap is generally followed by a panicked trip to a place like “Byte Me” in Hattiesburg, MS to pick up fresh provisions – “oh good, the phone charger I am buying today is MUCH cheaper than the phone charger I bought yesterday before I left Nashville”. Excellent.

But this is my favorite part…if you stay at any Hampton Inn in America and tell them you lost your phone charger…they will produce cardboard box FULL of left-behind phone chargers. A hulking, tangled mess of dumb-ass mementos. And you just pick through it like you’re shopping at Goodwill. I usually take two or three…either get ready for the next trip OR stocking stuffers for the whole family.

And don’t even get me started on those Blue Tooth things. In addition to simple misplacement, you can actually wash those little f@ckers in a pants pocket. Trust me.

And now that I have traded in my Treo for a phone that actually works…would anyone like a collection of seven Treo phone chargers? They come with three very clean Blue Tooths [Blue Teeth?]

The elbow's connected to the...

…panic button.

Holy crap, Rita has to have surgery on her elbow this Thursday (from relentless attacks on her funny bone??). In an early indication of exactly how much help I am likely to be in this process…I have no idea what the problem is. Something torn or frayed or filleted – I don’t really understand. Hell...i JUST realized it's her elbow and not her wrist (that wrist guard was confusing!).

And the recovery period is six weeks. Aye yi yi. Poor Rita...her primary caregiver is going to be….me [gulp]. Which means I am being promoted from busboy to executive chef at Chez Rita. The Michelin stars are disappearing even as type this. So while she’s mildly concerned about the risks of going under anesthesia, she is gravely concerned about the prospect of Lean Cuisines for the next six weeks. Not to worry though…I have already picked out our dinner for the first night (it’s not delivery, it’s DiGiorno). I am, however, a little light on ideas after that….sooooo, please post those recipe ideas here. The 255 characters allowed in the comment function should be PLENTY of space for any recipe that I can cook. Where’s that EZBake microwave when I need it?

In all seriousness…she is scheduled for elbow surgery on Thursday…she has been fighting this thing for a while so I am glad she will soon be feeling better. But it does promise to be a frustrating (and painful!) few weeks for her – any ideas for how to make it a little easier are always welcome (does twenty year old bordeaux mix with percocet?)