This Christmas I want a time machine. I would like to physically become somewhere between the age of 19 and 22 again. Why? Let me explain.
I've been realizing for some time that there has been something missing from my life for the past five or so years and that "thing" is two words: Competitive Sports. I was raised on Competitive Sports (Tm) and ever since I can remember (teeball, which I can barely remember) until about the end of medical school I always played SOMETHING. Something organized, something refereed, something with a scoreboard or scorebook or game clock - something.
When I left medical school and residency began to dominate my existence the secure and gratifying world of Competitive Sports left me for a time (five long years) and I've missed it ever since, particularly football and basketball.
I played nine years of full-contact football as a youth and from college on through the end of medical school I played flag football every year, accounting for nine more years and totaling a whopping 18 years of refereed football. Basketball I played even more of and over less time, and since leagues weren't limited to once yearly I probably averaged about two leagues a year from the end of high school until just about the end of medical school. (Also, pick-up hoops, though technically not "Competitive Sports", I played endlessly in college.)
And then residency started and it all just stopped. For a while I didn't realized what I was missing. During the three long, dark, Siberian years of residency, a group of us made an effort to play a weekly game of pick up hoops which, accounting for call and other things probably worked out about 50% of the time. In this time, we played exactly two games which I would say were "competitive", the two sessions, (previously discussed right here on this blog actually), where Internal Medicine squared off against the ER and there was more at stake than just a basketball game. Every made shot from our side was a victory for "rational medicine", every stuffed jumper an awe-inspiring "block" of a crappy chest pain admission instigated by the hated ER. There was no ref, but there was fire. I liked it.
Then residency ended and I came to Landstuhl, and lo and behold there was a weekly basketball game here, too, amongst some of the docs and pharmacists. This game, which again was good for exercise, suited my purposes to some extent and probably happened about 40% of the time.
Then I was off to Iraq. There too, albeit surprisingly, there were actually pick-up basketball games on outdoor courts for several weeks in the March and April time frame. Pete and I played in about two of these before Pete left. By then the temperature was already over 100, even at dusk and furthermore and perhaps more importantly we started getting mortared regularly. Not only were our outdoor activities canceled but one of our two courts suffered a direct hit and had a small crater right over the half court line, which was difficult to game plan for, much less run over or dribble through.
So for the remainder of my time in Iraq I hit the weights to an obsessive degree, more for psychological reasons and stress management than anything else, gaining 10 to 15 pounds of muscle in my upper body over my time there. (Then upon my return I worked hard and succeeded at getting rid of all that muscle and replacing it with a brief period of impressive truncal obesity thanks to a good regimen of excessive food and alcohol.) When I returned our Landstuhl game was still happening on an infrequent basis, and I have been going ever since when able.
Which brings me up to date and to the point of this story. All through the past five years I've wanted to play more sports. Not only do I get a better work-out when playing sports (as opposed to mind-numbing running, which is always painful at EVERY step, no matter how many times I've tried to convince myself I could really "get into" running...) , but I'm just happier out there when competing for something, manning an opponent, or chasing a ball. Every year there is a Landstuhl flag football team and I always see the flyer or email and always want to go out and try out, but always wuss out in the end. I don't know anyone on the team, and it's mostly enlisted guys anyway.
Similarly, last year I noticed there was "unit level" basketball in the Winter, meaning that Landstuhl puts together a basketball team and competes against other military teams in the surrounding area. A mass email went out for a "practice" and I showed up at one or two of them. At the time though, I knew I'd be on call a lot and traveling when Gwen returned, and the fact that 20 people showed up made it less enticing, so I decided not to pursue it. But I kept thinking about it, and when this year rolled around, I started talking to a guy in my clinic and we thought it would be fun to make a second team, composed of people we know (and play with) and enter the league this year.
Logistics of recruiting aside (a story in itself), we put together a team and voila, I'm on a basketball team again.
The league is actually fairly intense, mostly in that we play at least one but as many as three games a week! The season runs through early March, and there are two weeks off for the holidays coming up. The games are short (two 15 minute halves with "running clock") but numerous. All told there are nearly 30 games! The first week of league play was last week and we had three games back to back, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Yikes.
Before the first game I was fairly nervous. Good enough to "start" on our team, but certainly not the player I was ten years ago, I went to the gym several times the week before, rented out a ball and just started shooting, dribbling and doing basketball stuff. I even ran a suicide or two, Cable Guy style, a mistake which only served to tighten my hammies (ironic in the setting of the movie) and prove that I was not in any sort of "game shape".
Now one of the (many) problems of getting older is that the mind does so in different ways than the body. In my head I can still do all things I used to be able to do, I can play the same game I did when I was 21 years old. Truth is, my body can't keep up.
Before I explain that, allow me to fawn over my former self for a moment here. (Feel free skip to the next paragraph if you're not interested in hearing me gush about my former athleticism.) My "game" as a hoops player, when I was at my best, was predicated on driving to the hoop effectively and playing good defense. In my best years, when I had a good shot as well, I was actually pretty good at basketball. My favorite and best asset over all that time, was my shot-blocking ability. With a good combination of height, lanky arms, timing, and a surprising vertical leap (for a white geeky guy) I must say that I could always block shots with the best of them. (On the flip side, my willingness to leave my feet always made me the butt of many a successful play-fake, but when I was young I could often recover.) Some of my best memories from sports - period - are blocked shots. I loved doing it, and I loved guarding guys taller and slower than me, who thought they would just pull their half-ass turn around, or other signature shot, on me with relatively little effort. I was often underestimated in games, at least initially, and I would always get a charge out of rejecting that first shot so fiercely when they never saw it coming. How my eyes would light up when I saw them start to shoot, and then their whole demeanor would change thereafter, as they watched the ball they had dared to try and shoot rocketing backward somewhere in the vicinity of their own back court; some would become almost frightened to think about shooting again - ah the good old days. Also when I was young (and in shape) I could dunk the ball with reasonable ease. I dunked in games only seldom, on the break almost exclusively, but in warm-ups or just messing around there was a period of five or so years where simply dunking a basketball came easy. (My best "dunking" game ever was a pick up game my sophmore year of college; I dunked three times in one game, once on the break and twice while driving to the hoop in a half court set with relative traffic! That was a great day. OK, fawning part over. Back to the present - dark reality that it is....)
Cut away to last week. Recently I turned 32 years old. (In those practice sessions I mentioned above, before our first games, just to see if I could, I worked up to and actually did dunk a basketball. Mission accomplished. We'll see how it goes again at age 33 - for some reason I want to see what age it is that I can't dunk anymore. Also, it's comical now. What used to come easy now requires some serious warming up, coupled with practice runs at the basket, and usually costs me a sore left arch for a day or so - but I can still do it dammit!) When we took the court at the first game I was actually fairly nervous, but in a good way. The game started and things actually went pretty well. We played a crappy team, but it took our "old man" team an overtime to get the win. I was the leading scorer on this team, (and also sealed the game with a pair of free throws - go me!) but mostly because of sneaky offensive rebound type of points. Also, I'm the tallest guy on our team, so despite spending most of my "career" as a 3, or small forward, I'm basically having to play a small center now, which I'm not sure I like. I've never been a back-to-the-basket type of player, so it's taking some adjusting.
So the first game went relatively well. Now cut to the second game. One night later. On taking the court that second night, we played a much younger, much faster team, and I was sore from the first night. My hammies were balling up a little (I've had hamstring problems since near the end of college and the track team. They never bothered me in hoops - only in football and other cleated "full sprint" sports before - until just recently. Also in March last year I slipped two discs in my lower back which have been slow to heal. This injury actually happened while I was bending down for a loose ball during a game - how old does THAT sound? I bent down, my hammies were too tight, and a sharp pain was my reward as my back paid the price and the discs were yanked out. At the time, right after it happened, every step I took was accompanied by shooting pain down my left leg. This symptom subsided with time, rest, a few meds, and physical therapy, but I still have back pain and soreness any day after running or playing any sport. It sucks, but for now it's livable.) I noticed also that I was exhausted early and often during that second game. My speed and spring were about 75% of the night before (and are already permanently diminished as discussed). We got run up and down the floor, losing by 20 points. Yuck.
Wednesday was the third game. I didn't sleep well the night before, which apparently matters when you're old. I felt terrible going into this game - I had a latte at 4 pm a few hours before to help me survive at work, which took me up and then brought me way down about an hour before the game. I went to the game feeling exhausted before we even started, and I was slow and terrible again. My hammies felt like they were ready to pop and I had absolutely NO spring. Nobody played well, and we got beat again by another large margin. It was actually a little depressing.
Whereas in a younger day, at age 20, I would play pick up hoops for two to three hours a day almost every day of the week without a problem, I now have trouble playing for 30 minutes or so (less when factoring subs) on successive nights. Also, in the third game, I was guarding a guy slightly taller than me. He was big too, probably outweighing me by about 30 pounds or so. This is the type of player I would have relished guarding years ago. Now, on fatigued legs and an aching back - not as much. The classic scenario happened. He got the ball in the low post. He made a move and then spun to shoot. My eyes lit up as I began to leap - I knew I would get the swat. Only, I didn't. He turned, I jumped, he released the ball which sailed over my outstretched fingertips, went off the glass, and into the hoop. He ran back down the floor, high-fiving his teammates while his point guard said something to the effect of "that's there all day." What an awful feeling. I had jumped my best. I couldn't get the ball. If it had been the first game, maybe. If it had been 10 years ago, that ball would have been sent to the other side of the gym. Getting old sucks. And this is only age 32. Perish the thought of age 37, 42, or worse...
(Which reminds me of a story. When I was a senior at UCSD, on the track team, I was out on a Saturday at the track doing hurdle hops one afternoon at practice. There was an old guy there, like 60 years old or so, and he was doing the actual long jump - running, jumping into the sand, tucking into a chair position - the whole bit. It was a little awkward appearing, but impressive nonetheless given his age. I started talking to him and he said he was still competing in age-group events, including the long jump. He said he really missed being young and that "the leap" is the first thing to go. At the time, I empathized with him, and remember thinking that it was damn cool that he was still out there giving it his best, but I also couldn't relate. Back then, in the prime of my athleticism, which was then bolstered by rigorous daily track work-outs, I had a 30+ inch vertical leap, a 52 flat time in the 400 meters, and I had absolutely NO IDEA what he could mean. This was about 11 years ago now. And sadly, I now know exactly what he means.)
But all age-related atrophy of body aside, it is good - damn good in fact - to be playing Competitive Sports (Tm) again. Despite the attenuation of speed and spring, I can already feel the increase in "game shape" and on weeks where we only have 1 or 2 games I should probably be OK. As long as my back holds up. (Wow, did I just type that? Excuse me I might go cry.) It sure as hell beats running or doing generic weights or something like that. I've made a mental note now that I need to be playing in leagues (or at least playing pick-up sports), even if I'm older and slower, as long as I can. Basketball, football, ultimate disc, soccer even, I don't care. It's just a much better way to stay in shape and have fun in the process. Plus it still feels good to get that nervous game energy as things are about to start. That competitive fire is still thrilling. My dream is to return to San Diego and fire up the old boys on a couple of leagues of the above. If we can't out-athleticize them like we used to, maybe we can out-think or out-strategize them instead. At the very least, we can always tell them what we USED TO be able to do. And that's better than nothing, right?
Either way, and despite the yearning for younger days, it'll be worth the effort.
This and That
Anyone who just read Gwen's recent post knows we spent out Saturday over in Luxembourg visiting the closest thing we've seen to a mall in Europe, with the exception of the shopping district in Paris and maybe this one other place in Prague. (And for the record, when I reread that last sentence, I realize how snobby I sound because I'm casually mentioning things like: a)I just jaunted up to Luxembourg for the day and b)*I* go to places like Paris and Prague.) Regardless, this Auchan (sounding disquietingly similar to "Auschwitz" - possibly a poor PR move) place was fairly unique for a European setting, a huge superstore which was part grocery store, part K-mart (but nicer), surrounded by autonomous smaller stores and eateries, and a self proclaimed "Hypermarkt". (Note: I didn't miss an "E" there, that's how it's spelled on its own directory. After reading that word, I kind of wish the word "Mall" would go away in the States and be replaced by 'Hypermarkt'. There would be constant techno and you could say things like: "Did you see that chick's Hypermarkt hair?" Stuff like that would be fun.)
As Gwen mentioned, we went for the wine and cheese, two commodities that for whatever reason are far superior outside of Germany. I wish I knew more about wine, but I swear looking at long aisles of Bordeaux and Alsace regional wines selling for three to five Euros per bottle I kept thinking about how some of these bottles would probably cost 50 or 60 bucks minimum at some restaurants in the States. Might as well stock up while we're here (even though 'three to five Euros' *IS* roughly fifty to sixty bucks now given the current weakness of the dollar). Similarly, I don't know a lot about cheese, only that France has some of the most liberal cheese laws allowing more exotic stuff to be produced and sold (kind of unsettling to think about actually - basically anything, from any orifice or pit of a goat or cow or other barnyard mammal, of any age, can me be made into a cheese....) and that there are very few cheeses I don't like, so we just picked up "half kilos" of several different kinds to try out or at the very least stink up our house with.
Last night upon our return from Luxembourg (did I mention we just jaunted up there for the day?), we met up with Pete and Kane (a PA from Baumholder) and went over to the Christkindlemarkt here in downtown Kaiserslautern. 'Tis the season for these things, and basically most cities in Germany take a large portion of their walk-platz, or downtown, and set up various booths which serve specialty foods and/or sell knick-knacks. There is music and merry-making to boot. The most notable thing is the famous "Gluhwein", which is a sweetened, spiced, and heated red wine which is very good and both promotes cheer (alcohol!) and helps one battle the bone-chilling cold which permeates Germany at this time of year.
One thing we forgot to do at both places - a gross oversight in fact - is bring the camera. We've learned that any time we experience anything "local" here, we really to have to bring the camera. Not only for the multitude of Funboys (when's the last time I had one of those pictured here? What's happened to this place?) that appear at these places and events, but just for local oddities in general. (For example, at the Hypermarkt, one of the clothing stores had a fashion display which featured mannequins dressed in something akin to a J. Crew get-up, only the heads on each mannequin were adorned with animal masks - life-size ones - the overall effect of which was downright creepy, especially for anyone who's read Stephen King.) So the camera is a must.
In other news, thanks to my parents, "Rock Band" has arrived and we had our first band session the other night with Pete, Gwen and myself. The overall impression is that it's quite fun though we have some work to do in terms of figuring out all the nuances, especially regarding the user interface. Guitar work is a little different than in Guitar Hero, and though the Guitar that comes with Rock Band is a sweet wireless version, its also got mushy keys and none of us seemed to be able to play at even 75% of our best on it. Drums are just a blast, and quite fatiguing. Singing is pure comedy, especially since for every line there is a little arrow which tells you whether or not you need to sing at a higher or lower pitch - this arrow constantly shifts up and down and the singer must respond to compensate. The overall effect is that everyone sounds not unlike a male teen going through puberty at many points in the song. We'll try to get some "concert videos" or at least pictures up soon.
(Pulled this one from the archives. This one's from a train ride to the airport in Stuttgart on our way to Croatia. They start the Funboys young here. This kids glasses never came off, not even in the dark stretches of the train ride. Somthing tells me he sleeps in them. Also not pictured are the sweet all-white shoes. This kid has probably made out with every chick in the sixth grade...)
As Gwen mentioned, we went for the wine and cheese, two commodities that for whatever reason are far superior outside of Germany. I wish I knew more about wine, but I swear looking at long aisles of Bordeaux and Alsace regional wines selling for three to five Euros per bottle I kept thinking about how some of these bottles would probably cost 50 or 60 bucks minimum at some restaurants in the States. Might as well stock up while we're here (even though 'three to five Euros' *IS* roughly fifty to sixty bucks now given the current weakness of the dollar). Similarly, I don't know a lot about cheese, only that France has some of the most liberal cheese laws allowing more exotic stuff to be produced and sold (kind of unsettling to think about actually - basically anything, from any orifice or pit of a goat or cow or other barnyard mammal, of any age, can me be made into a cheese....) and that there are very few cheeses I don't like, so we just picked up "half kilos" of several different kinds to try out or at the very least stink up our house with.
Last night upon our return from Luxembourg (did I mention we just jaunted up there for the day?), we met up with Pete and Kane (a PA from Baumholder) and went over to the Christkindlemarkt here in downtown Kaiserslautern. 'Tis the season for these things, and basically most cities in Germany take a large portion of their walk-platz, or downtown, and set up various booths which serve specialty foods and/or sell knick-knacks. There is music and merry-making to boot. The most notable thing is the famous "Gluhwein", which is a sweetened, spiced, and heated red wine which is very good and both promotes cheer (alcohol!) and helps one battle the bone-chilling cold which permeates Germany at this time of year.
One thing we forgot to do at both places - a gross oversight in fact - is bring the camera. We've learned that any time we experience anything "local" here, we really to have to bring the camera. Not only for the multitude of Funboys (when's the last time I had one of those pictured here? What's happened to this place?) that appear at these places and events, but just for local oddities in general. (For example, at the Hypermarkt, one of the clothing stores had a fashion display which featured mannequins dressed in something akin to a J. Crew get-up, only the heads on each mannequin were adorned with animal masks - life-size ones - the overall effect of which was downright creepy, especially for anyone who's read Stephen King.) So the camera is a must.
In other news, thanks to my parents, "Rock Band" has arrived and we had our first band session the other night with Pete, Gwen and myself. The overall impression is that it's quite fun though we have some work to do in terms of figuring out all the nuances, especially regarding the user interface. Guitar work is a little different than in Guitar Hero, and though the Guitar that comes with Rock Band is a sweet wireless version, its also got mushy keys and none of us seemed to be able to play at even 75% of our best on it. Drums are just a blast, and quite fatiguing. Singing is pure comedy, especially since for every line there is a little arrow which tells you whether or not you need to sing at a higher or lower pitch - this arrow constantly shifts up and down and the singer must respond to compensate. The overall effect is that everyone sounds not unlike a male teen going through puberty at many points in the song. We'll try to get some "concert videos" or at least pictures up soon.
(Pulled this one from the archives. This one's from a train ride to the airport in Stuttgart on our way to Croatia. They start the Funboys young here. This kids glasses never came off, not even in the dark stretches of the train ride. Somthing tells me he sleeps in them. Also not pictured are the sweet all-white shoes. This kid has probably made out with every chick in the sixth grade...)
Football is a Harsh Mistress
Today I have a legitimate football hangover.
As the NFL season wears on, I feel emotionally not unlike an actual player might physically. The weekly grind of my obsession with football slowly wears on my psyche like successive 30-carry games might on the knees of some aging running back. All the preseason research, all the monitoring of my Giants, all the study of the spreads and the weekly picks, all the management toil of my multiple fantasy teams - it adds up. And by season's end, though I'm undoubtedly sad to see football go, I, like the players, also need the rest. Being in Germany, with its "off" times for viewing, only compounds the problem.
Yesterday was a good reminder of that. Not only are my Giants falling into their pattern of recent late season collapses, but I'm embroiled in FOUR fantasy leagues in which playoff races are starting to form, and stress is starting to mount over whom to play and whom to sit. Pouring over weekly injury reports trying to glean who might play, start, and shine can be exhausting work. Coaching one team effectively is difficult enough. Coaching four with at least modest intensity? Very taxing.
Watching the games should be the easy part, but even during those there's the constant fretting about the down-to-down and general condition of my Giants (currently: not good) and the constant monitoring of the Stat-Tracker to make sure that my fantasy teams are putting up adequate numbers or that my opponents' teams are not. Rare is the game that I can simply sit back, relax, and enjoy as an "uninvolved" football fan.
I was on call over the weekend, so I felt mildly vindicated in staying up all night (in bed at 6 am) to watch the Patriots play the Eagles. Just "in case" the ER called I was all ready to go. They did NOT call, but I stayed up nevertheless, mostly because I wanted Tom Brady to do poorly. The reasons for this wish are numerous, but chief among them is that I am/was playing against him in one of my key fantasy games.
On a similar note I had a unique-if-not-pleasant football experience last night - that of rooting FOR the Eagles, the team that, along with the Cowboys, I most loathe and despise in this world. It was an odd, unsettling, and even nauseating sort of feeling, probably not unlike the one stranded mountain plane crash survivors experience when realizing they must turn to cannibalism to survive. True, it is no joy to eat fetid human flesh, but it DOES beat starvation.
And the equivalent of starvation here is the Patriots going undefeated and winning the Super Bowl. Like most people, I'm sick of them. I'm sick of their smug Boston scene, their cock-sure attitude, their Emperor Palpatine coach - the whole thing. They need to lose, even if it takes the Eagles to beat them.
The Eagles did NOT beat them, however, and thus the anxiety of this potential undefeated season goes on. The Giants play the Pats in week 17, and the thought of meek and possibly free-falling Eli Manning being the only thing standing between the Pats and an undefeated season is a bitter pill to swallow. The Steelers have the best shot at them I think, and we shall see what comes of that game in two weeks. In the end it might be better for them to go undefeated in the regular season and then NOT win the Super Bowl. This is perhaps the most soul-crushing and spite-filled way to go on the rooting scale but it's also too risky and probably asking too much - I'd rather have them be beaten now and then again in the post-season and be done with it.
That said, the ultimate goal must be them losing at some point in the post-season, preferably in their first playoff game. Then we might finally wipe the dark smirk off of Belichick's face and end chatter of this "best team ever" nonsense. (Besides, everyone knows the 1986 and 1990 Giants were both far superior, but I digress...)
In other news, the tree is up and as always is a giant success. Full photo-doc coming nearer to Christmas time itself - we'll call it my Christmas present to this blog.
Right now I have to go wash the taste of human flesh out of my mouth, ice my psyche, and prepare for another week of football.
As the NFL season wears on, I feel emotionally not unlike an actual player might physically. The weekly grind of my obsession with football slowly wears on my psyche like successive 30-carry games might on the knees of some aging running back. All the preseason research, all the monitoring of my Giants, all the study of the spreads and the weekly picks, all the management toil of my multiple fantasy teams - it adds up. And by season's end, though I'm undoubtedly sad to see football go, I, like the players, also need the rest. Being in Germany, with its "off" times for viewing, only compounds the problem.
Yesterday was a good reminder of that. Not only are my Giants falling into their pattern of recent late season collapses, but I'm embroiled in FOUR fantasy leagues in which playoff races are starting to form, and stress is starting to mount over whom to play and whom to sit. Pouring over weekly injury reports trying to glean who might play, start, and shine can be exhausting work. Coaching one team effectively is difficult enough. Coaching four with at least modest intensity? Very taxing.
Watching the games should be the easy part, but even during those there's the constant fretting about the down-to-down and general condition of my Giants (currently: not good) and the constant monitoring of the Stat-Tracker to make sure that my fantasy teams are putting up adequate numbers or that my opponents' teams are not. Rare is the game that I can simply sit back, relax, and enjoy as an "uninvolved" football fan.
I was on call over the weekend, so I felt mildly vindicated in staying up all night (in bed at 6 am) to watch the Patriots play the Eagles. Just "in case" the ER called I was all ready to go. They did NOT call, but I stayed up nevertheless, mostly because I wanted Tom Brady to do poorly. The reasons for this wish are numerous, but chief among them is that I am/was playing against him in one of my key fantasy games.
On a similar note I had a unique-if-not-pleasant football experience last night - that of rooting FOR the Eagles, the team that, along with the Cowboys, I most loathe and despise in this world. It was an odd, unsettling, and even nauseating sort of feeling, probably not unlike the one stranded mountain plane crash survivors experience when realizing they must turn to cannibalism to survive. True, it is no joy to eat fetid human flesh, but it DOES beat starvation.
And the equivalent of starvation here is the Patriots going undefeated and winning the Super Bowl. Like most people, I'm sick of them. I'm sick of their smug Boston scene, their cock-sure attitude, their Emperor Palpatine coach - the whole thing. They need to lose, even if it takes the Eagles to beat them.
The Eagles did NOT beat them, however, and thus the anxiety of this potential undefeated season goes on. The Giants play the Pats in week 17, and the thought of meek and possibly free-falling Eli Manning being the only thing standing between the Pats and an undefeated season is a bitter pill to swallow. The Steelers have the best shot at them I think, and we shall see what comes of that game in two weeks. In the end it might be better for them to go undefeated in the regular season and then NOT win the Super Bowl. This is perhaps the most soul-crushing and spite-filled way to go on the rooting scale but it's also too risky and probably asking too much - I'd rather have them be beaten now and then again in the post-season and be done with it.
That said, the ultimate goal must be them losing at some point in the post-season, preferably in their first playoff game. Then we might finally wipe the dark smirk off of Belichick's face and end chatter of this "best team ever" nonsense. (Besides, everyone knows the 1986 and 1990 Giants were both far superior, but I digress...)
In other news, the tree is up and as always is a giant success. Full photo-doc coming nearer to Christmas time itself - we'll call it my Christmas present to this blog.
Right now I have to go wash the taste of human flesh out of my mouth, ice my psyche, and prepare for another week of football.
Birthday and Beowulf: Exposed
It's the day after Thanksgiving, which means that the Christmas Season is officially upon us. Rather than join some consumer fracas at a nearby shopping outlet, having our courage and stamina tested by the flying elbows of other shoppers and our will to live sapped by ceaseless, repetitive, maddening holiday ballads, Gwen I have decided instead to stay at home, relax, and begin the season with our own holiday ritual: heavy drinking.
Kidding. The ritual of which I speak, of course, is The Tree. First erected in 2002, and now a seasonal tradition, it's one of my favorite things about the holidays. Gwen's too.
Rest assured that there will be more to follow (with photos) once the Tree is standing tall and set to illuminate the holidays. In the meantime, to keep appetites whetted, here is a flashback, to the 2006 version.
And now to other matters.
According to official documents, I turned 32 years old last Monday. Birthday festivities were minimal this year, mostly by my choice, but also by the fact that sheer numbers of people, with whom I could celebrate the day, were missing. We're in Europe for Pete's sake. (And speaking of Pete, even HE was away, being recently tasked with a two-week stint elsewhere in Germany to help with the medical reintegration of a unit returning from the desert.)
Despite the minimalism, my birthday was quite pleasant. I spent the early portion (midnight to roughly 2 am) watching the late football games. After a relatively uneventful work day, I fired up, on a lark, the Transformers Soundtrack during my drive home from work. It was cold and rainy outside of the car, to be sure, but inside the vehicle my heart was warm and aglow with the sweet musical stylings of the immortal Stan Bush. In my (now 32) years I've learned that if you want to feel good about yourself out of nowhere and on short notice, you'd be wise to fire up "You got the Touch" and "Dare" in quick succession on any nearby musical device. Not only will the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you learn that "when all hell's breakin' loose, you'll be right in the eye of the storm" and that "you never bend, you never break - you're a winner", but additionally you will find that your spirit soars while you reaffirm the ultimate truism, again supplied by Stan, that: "You can win - if you dare."
And I dare. Even at age 32.
Gwen and I went to dinner at our favorite Himalayan haunt that evening, and then retired to Man Room for some Planet Earth viewing - in Blu-Ray. The series, a gift from Gwendolyn for this particular occasion, is impressive. I don't know anyone sane who doesn't enjoy a good nature show, and from what I've seen so far this particular nature show takes the cake. Narrated by the cast-iron voiced Richard Attenborough, of "Trials of Life" fame, I can honestly pronounce that a man hasn't lived until he's seen a Great White shark breach, at 1/40th speed, its entire body out of the water, a hapless and doomed seal clutched in its gargantuan jaws, its soulless black eyes staring menacingly at nothing, a million water droplets - testament to the surface eruption - spraying, moving so slowly that they seem to crawl across the screen, in full BLU-RAY 1080i, colors and contrasts all brilliantly displayed, the trials of life indeed on full display... Now this is a ****ing nature show! Viagra for the male brain.
I would be remiss in not mentioning that Gwendolyn (who was responsible for all the successes of the day - even the Transformers Soundtrack reaffirmations; she had bought me the CD on a prior birthday) also cooked me a scrumptious chocolate on chocolate on ice cream dessert for the occasion. Absolutely delicious. Aside from Planet Earth, there were other gifts, including a gaming headset (for my growing obsession with TF2) and a pet puppy! To clarify, this is my new pet, named Tekno, and though at times electronically demonic (especially the colored eyes) also quite hilarious. So again very nice work by Gwendolyn. I'll go ahead and place this particular birthday in the "success" column.
Yesterday was Thanksgiving, which we spent at Gwen's boss's house. It was a nice event, marred only slightly by the anxiety of being on call, which we both were, and are. The whole call fiasco necessitated taking separate cars.
On Wednesday night, before Thanksgiving, and more importantly before call, we went to the local cinema and caught a show of "Beowulf", which I'm told is the latest in the new wave of hyper-stylized digital film making. Supposedly the movie is visually spectacular in a 3D viewing arena, but we settled merely for a normal old-fashioned theater. And visually the movie is pretty good in every respect but the human face, which still comes off as mostly creepy and animatronic.
The movie itself is middling, in my opinion. It had its moments I guess, but overall it fell kind of a flat. If feels like a "300" cousin in style ("I...AM...BEOWULF!" sounds remarkably like "THIS...IS...SPARTA!"), but not as good as that (also just OK, in my opinion) film. What I'll mostly take away, other than some over the top stylized Angelina Jolie near soft-porn, is the scene in which Beowulf fights Grendel - naked. It's kind of a head-scratcher. He (Beowulf) no sooner arrives at the Great Hall (briefly attending a feast so he can proclaim himself the greatest hero ever), only to disrobe completely a few moments later while everyone attempts to lure the creature, and explains this odd action by declaring boldly that Grendel "fights with neither sword nor armor, and thus neither will I". And when Grendel (portrayed as some sort of giant, strong, uglier gollum, and troubled constantly by the mother of all earaches) does arrive, he too is in the buff. What ensues - in a ridiculous spectacle - is a sculpted and naked Beowulf acrobatically flipping around the Great Hall, alternating attacks with dodges, (his package always covered by some shadow, candlestick, sword of one of his men also engaged with the creature, Grendel's shoulder, something), his long golden hair whipping around, like some sort of homoerotic, nordic ninja. The only reason I wasn't laughing outright was because I was still caught, for most of the fight, in the shock of the sheer disbelief of what I was seeing. It was most odd. But also quite fabulous!
Apparently, Beowulf too, knows that, he can win if he dares.
Kidding. The ritual of which I speak, of course, is The Tree. First erected in 2002, and now a seasonal tradition, it's one of my favorite things about the holidays. Gwen's too.
Rest assured that there will be more to follow (with photos) once the Tree is standing tall and set to illuminate the holidays. In the meantime, to keep appetites whetted, here is a flashback, to the 2006 version.
And now to other matters.
According to official documents, I turned 32 years old last Monday. Birthday festivities were minimal this year, mostly by my choice, but also by the fact that sheer numbers of people, with whom I could celebrate the day, were missing. We're in Europe for Pete's sake. (And speaking of Pete, even HE was away, being recently tasked with a two-week stint elsewhere in Germany to help with the medical reintegration of a unit returning from the desert.)
Despite the minimalism, my birthday was quite pleasant. I spent the early portion (midnight to roughly 2 am) watching the late football games. After a relatively uneventful work day, I fired up, on a lark, the Transformers Soundtrack during my drive home from work. It was cold and rainy outside of the car, to be sure, but inside the vehicle my heart was warm and aglow with the sweet musical stylings of the immortal Stan Bush. In my (now 32) years I've learned that if you want to feel good about yourself out of nowhere and on short notice, you'd be wise to fire up "You got the Touch" and "Dare" in quick succession on any nearby musical device. Not only will the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you learn that "when all hell's breakin' loose, you'll be right in the eye of the storm" and that "you never bend, you never break - you're a winner", but additionally you will find that your spirit soars while you reaffirm the ultimate truism, again supplied by Stan, that: "You can win - if you dare."
And I dare. Even at age 32.
Gwen and I went to dinner at our favorite Himalayan haunt that evening, and then retired to Man Room for some Planet Earth viewing - in Blu-Ray. The series, a gift from Gwendolyn for this particular occasion, is impressive. I don't know anyone sane who doesn't enjoy a good nature show, and from what I've seen so far this particular nature show takes the cake. Narrated by the cast-iron voiced Richard Attenborough, of "Trials of Life" fame, I can honestly pronounce that a man hasn't lived until he's seen a Great White shark breach, at 1/40th speed, its entire body out of the water, a hapless and doomed seal clutched in its gargantuan jaws, its soulless black eyes staring menacingly at nothing, a million water droplets - testament to the surface eruption - spraying, moving so slowly that they seem to crawl across the screen, in full BLU-RAY 1080i, colors and contrasts all brilliantly displayed, the trials of life indeed on full display... Now this is a ****ing nature show! Viagra for the male brain.
I would be remiss in not mentioning that Gwendolyn (who was responsible for all the successes of the day - even the Transformers Soundtrack reaffirmations; she had bought me the CD on a prior birthday) also cooked me a scrumptious chocolate on chocolate on ice cream dessert for the occasion. Absolutely delicious. Aside from Planet Earth, there were other gifts, including a gaming headset (for my growing obsession with TF2) and a pet puppy! To clarify, this is my new pet, named Tekno, and though at times electronically demonic (especially the colored eyes) also quite hilarious. So again very nice work by Gwendolyn. I'll go ahead and place this particular birthday in the "success" column.
Yesterday was Thanksgiving, which we spent at Gwen's boss's house. It was a nice event, marred only slightly by the anxiety of being on call, which we both were, and are. The whole call fiasco necessitated taking separate cars.
On Wednesday night, before Thanksgiving, and more importantly before call, we went to the local cinema and caught a show of "Beowulf", which I'm told is the latest in the new wave of hyper-stylized digital film making. Supposedly the movie is visually spectacular in a 3D viewing arena, but we settled merely for a normal old-fashioned theater. And visually the movie is pretty good in every respect but the human face, which still comes off as mostly creepy and animatronic.
The movie itself is middling, in my opinion. It had its moments I guess, but overall it fell kind of a flat. If feels like a "300" cousin in style ("I...AM...BEOWULF!" sounds remarkably like "THIS...IS...SPARTA!"), but not as good as that (also just OK, in my opinion) film. What I'll mostly take away, other than some over the top stylized Angelina Jolie near soft-porn, is the scene in which Beowulf fights Grendel - naked. It's kind of a head-scratcher. He (Beowulf) no sooner arrives at the Great Hall (briefly attending a feast so he can proclaim himself the greatest hero ever), only to disrobe completely a few moments later while everyone attempts to lure the creature, and explains this odd action by declaring boldly that Grendel "fights with neither sword nor armor, and thus neither will I". And when Grendel (portrayed as some sort of giant, strong, uglier gollum, and troubled constantly by the mother of all earaches) does arrive, he too is in the buff. What ensues - in a ridiculous spectacle - is a sculpted and naked Beowulf acrobatically flipping around the Great Hall, alternating attacks with dodges, (his package always covered by some shadow, candlestick, sword of one of his men also engaged with the creature, Grendel's shoulder, something), his long golden hair whipping around, like some sort of homoerotic, nordic ninja. The only reason I wasn't laughing outright was because I was still caught, for most of the fight, in the shock of the sheer disbelief of what I was seeing. It was most odd. But also quite fabulous!
Apparently, Beowulf too, knows that, he can win if he dares.
Untitled
Winter is in the air here in Germany, a fact augmented by the abrupt temperature difference noted upon returning last week from Jacksonville, Florida. And since we've been back, the mercury has continued to slowly but steadily drop, a sign winter is creeping in and preparing to lay its dark, bleak shroud of icy cold over greater Europe. The time change hasn't helped things, with darkness settling in successively faster each night; soon it will be rare to leave work in daylight. Grilling, one of our recent preferred modes of cooking, appears to be done for the season for obvious reasons.
Technically it's supposed to be fall, but why even kid ourselves? The leaves turned color a few weeks back, and it was pretty indeed, with classic oranges, yellows, and reds covering the hills and our streets. That time was short lived, however, and just as we noted the leaves changing we nearly as quickly noticed a few windy, rainy days which washed the leaves away and seemingly the whole of autumn with them. Now, mostly bare branches remain.
The older I get the less I deal well with "seasons", especially non-temperate ones. Perhaps spending my tender teen years in Southern California spoiled me, but I now find the cold and dark more than just cold and dark, I find them almost depressing. (Last year I had no such qualms. Having just returned from the desert, I found the cold one hell of a nice change. What a difference a year makes.)
The trip to Florida was my fifth trip to the States since March, which is a pretty insane number for a non-business traveler when I think about it. Those flights are long, dammit! The East Coast trip is generally a much easier physiologic and psychologic experience than the West Coast trip - those extra three hours make a big difference in jet lag for some reason. Out of all five trips, something went logistically wrong with at least one leg in every single journey, a sure sign that the airline industry is in a mild to moderate state of shambles. Twice bags were lost, including upon our arrival to Jacksonville this last time. Multiple planes were delayed and twice flights were canceled outright. Because of flight delays, I've spent more time running through airports to make connections in the last year than ever before, with memorable sprints through Heathrow, Amsterdam, and most recently Charlotte to name a few. Twice these sprints were successful, but both resulted in delayed luggage.
The trip to Jacksonville was quite pleasant and restful. Occasionally its nice to have a trip designed primarily for mingling and vegetation, which it seemed this one was. I was able to meet much of Gwen's family (mother's side), and found them all very gracious and accepting - for lack of a better term. Gwen's mom has a knack for interior design and is quite the gifted seamstress. The flowery and richly-materialed home she shares with Gwen's step-dad was a stark reminder of our own spartan-by-comparison living, but it certainly made for a congenial place to relax. I quite enjoyed it and the trip overall.
As always, the icing on the cake of any trip back stateside is the ability to step back into American culture, albeit briefly. For this trip, and at the risk of being branded an American consumer zealot, I'm speaking mostly of Best Buy and Starbucks here. I don't know why the Germans can't figure out that a large sippable coffee that can actually be taken to go isn't a good idea, because it IS a good idea - a very good idea in fact. And I was reminded of this notion each time I took a sip of one of my repeatedly purchased venti hazelnut lattes, thank you very much.
The Germans do better in the Best Buy arena, but the electronics stores here in Europe are useless to me because of regional differences in electronics compatibility. Because of this, I'm relegated to the base offerings and and have few other options. There's always internet shopping, but its not quite the same as wandering through aisles upon aisles of an electronic candy store. So its always with a high degree of glee that I return to Best Buy on each successive trip home. There's always some new piece of technology on the market (like the iPhone, for example) to marvel at, and the multiple racks of up to date video games are a sight to behold. My normal electronics shopping here in Germany consists of what the base PX can provide, and though I shouldn't complain by any means, to compare the local AAFES "Power Zone" to a Best Buy is to compare a Soviet era bread line to a large Parisian bakery.
Since our return from the States, Gwen and I have slowly settled back into routine. Excluding short day trips, we probably won't be traveling significantly again until the holidays. Work is work, and I'm at the point in my Army career where I'm starting to look PAST my Army career. The coming of the new year will mark the 18-month point of time I have left. I'm told that the last 12 months happen quickly, and a lot of that time will be spent doing inordinate amounts of separation paperwork (shocker) and looking for a job, housing, etc. I'm actually looking quite forward to it. Odds are I'll probably take a few months off in general after getting out before settling into any sort of steady job or routine, but we'll see.
Either way, it will be nice to at last be done "protecting" freedom and instead be able to experience it. I might even grow my goatee back.
Technically it's supposed to be fall, but why even kid ourselves? The leaves turned color a few weeks back, and it was pretty indeed, with classic oranges, yellows, and reds covering the hills and our streets. That time was short lived, however, and just as we noted the leaves changing we nearly as quickly noticed a few windy, rainy days which washed the leaves away and seemingly the whole of autumn with them. Now, mostly bare branches remain.
The older I get the less I deal well with "seasons", especially non-temperate ones. Perhaps spending my tender teen years in Southern California spoiled me, but I now find the cold and dark more than just cold and dark, I find them almost depressing. (Last year I had no such qualms. Having just returned from the desert, I found the cold one hell of a nice change. What a difference a year makes.)
The trip to Florida was my fifth trip to the States since March, which is a pretty insane number for a non-business traveler when I think about it. Those flights are long, dammit! The East Coast trip is generally a much easier physiologic and psychologic experience than the West Coast trip - those extra three hours make a big difference in jet lag for some reason. Out of all five trips, something went logistically wrong with at least one leg in every single journey, a sure sign that the airline industry is in a mild to moderate state of shambles. Twice bags were lost, including upon our arrival to Jacksonville this last time. Multiple planes were delayed and twice flights were canceled outright. Because of flight delays, I've spent more time running through airports to make connections in the last year than ever before, with memorable sprints through Heathrow, Amsterdam, and most recently Charlotte to name a few. Twice these sprints were successful, but both resulted in delayed luggage.
The trip to Jacksonville was quite pleasant and restful. Occasionally its nice to have a trip designed primarily for mingling and vegetation, which it seemed this one was. I was able to meet much of Gwen's family (mother's side), and found them all very gracious and accepting - for lack of a better term. Gwen's mom has a knack for interior design and is quite the gifted seamstress. The flowery and richly-materialed home she shares with Gwen's step-dad was a stark reminder of our own spartan-by-comparison living, but it certainly made for a congenial place to relax. I quite enjoyed it and the trip overall.
As always, the icing on the cake of any trip back stateside is the ability to step back into American culture, albeit briefly. For this trip, and at the risk of being branded an American consumer zealot, I'm speaking mostly of Best Buy and Starbucks here. I don't know why the Germans can't figure out that a large sippable coffee that can actually be taken to go isn't a good idea, because it IS a good idea - a very good idea in fact. And I was reminded of this notion each time I took a sip of one of my repeatedly purchased venti hazelnut lattes, thank you very much.
The Germans do better in the Best Buy arena, but the electronics stores here in Europe are useless to me because of regional differences in electronics compatibility. Because of this, I'm relegated to the base offerings and and have few other options. There's always internet shopping, but its not quite the same as wandering through aisles upon aisles of an electronic candy store. So its always with a high degree of glee that I return to Best Buy on each successive trip home. There's always some new piece of technology on the market (like the iPhone, for example) to marvel at, and the multiple racks of up to date video games are a sight to behold. My normal electronics shopping here in Germany consists of what the base PX can provide, and though I shouldn't complain by any means, to compare the local AAFES "Power Zone" to a Best Buy is to compare a Soviet era bread line to a large Parisian bakery.
Since our return from the States, Gwen and I have slowly settled back into routine. Excluding short day trips, we probably won't be traveling significantly again until the holidays. Work is work, and I'm at the point in my Army career where I'm starting to look PAST my Army career. The coming of the new year will mark the 18-month point of time I have left. I'm told that the last 12 months happen quickly, and a lot of that time will be spent doing inordinate amounts of separation paperwork (shocker) and looking for a job, housing, etc. I'm actually looking quite forward to it. Odds are I'll probably take a few months off in general after getting out before settling into any sort of steady job or routine, but we'll see.
Either way, it will be nice to at last be done "protecting" freedom and instead be able to experience it. I might even grow my goatee back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)