how to be a silly man

Today's modern urban man can be a great many things, but one thing we have a great deal of trouble being is manly, at least in the traditional sense of the word. What follows is a list of times and situations in the recent past where I have felt/acted like a very, very silly man and some simple advice on how to live with yourself as a result.

* Riding the subway is great. But it is soooo dirty. What's a modern urban man to do? Purell, my darlings. I like to buy it in bulk. But oh how silly we look, exiting the subway, lathering up with that cute little tube of anti-bacterial as a team of large NYC Sanitary workers move our city's filth and refuse. I recommend adverting eyes.

* Today's man of the city shouldn't be ashamed of baking. A tasty saturday banana bread can be a nice little treat for you and your lover. But careful. If you set off the CO2 monitor, and you call ConEd because you don't know how to turn off said C02 monitor they are required -- by law -- to send the FDNY.

Tip: It's best to remove your apron before 785 collective lbs of FDNY show up to your apartment.

* Staying fit can be so hard, what with our busy upwardly mobile schedules. Why not try triathlon? And you are sure to get quite a few great comments of admiration and cat calls for your lycra tights and shaved legs from the construction workers using the jack hammer out side your apartment.

* Getting a flat tire on your car is never fun. So if it happens to you, on say the Merritt Pkwy in Connecticut, here's a quick step by step guide of what to do.

1. Get out of your car and pace around the grass a bit. This will keep you calm.

2. Spill all the contents of the trunk spare (jack, spare, other doohickythingy) onto the ground.

3. Look at contents a bit. Scratch chin.

4. Roll up sleeves and make half assed attempt to change said tire.

5. Get self into precarious situation where life is likely in danger.

6. Call your rental car company. Have as little information for them as possible as to your exact location. You want to make sure *they* know how to do *their* jobs.

7. Assure roadside assistance that, "You would totally change the tire yourself. But you feel that there is not quite enough room on the shoulder to get the job done." Repeat this as many times as possible.

8. Wait for roadside assistance to show up.

9. Run around like an overly eager 5 year old trying to "help" roadside assistance personel. Totally comment on how great their tools are, and when possible offer advice. THEY LOVE THIS.

10. Sheepishly tuck $10 bill on windshield wiper of vehicle, and drive home with hazards on doing 45 mph.

* When buying a venus silky smooth razor, a great amount of embarrassment can be saved if you purchase a blue one and announce loudly, "GEEEZ WIFE YOUR RAZORS SURE ARE EXPENSIVE!" Do this regardless of wife being present or actually being married.

Gentleman and fellow pansypants, with a little work you too can remove that last remaining amount of pesky dignity from your life.

Bon chance!

break over

Over the the last two months Kt has made me lunches, dinners, kept a tidy house and done every piece of laundry. She is returning to work on friday and will be putting to an end my 1956 style domestic bliss.

Today she texted, "Could you do me a huge favor and water my plants?"

My reply was, essentially, "ALREADY DID IT! WORSHIP ME YOU LUCKY LUCKY LADY!"

justasprint

A sprint triathlon is a paradox. Almost anyone that has been involved in the sport for more than two or three years will call these races "just" a sprint triathlon. Yet, they seem to take way more out of you than you are usually prepared for -- below is story that gives a nice example of that paradox.

I signed up for the Mossman sprint triathlon one week before the race. I may have had a few cocktails before signing up. It was a passing thought. I put in some hard miles the day before the race (60 on the bike) and planned to get in a 45 min+ run after the finish. The morning of the race I tossed all pre-race breakfast planning aside, "Just a sprint. A cliff bar will do."

You see, I'm a big deal because things like this are NO. BIG. DEAL.

Regardless of this no big deal event, I still got a few twitters in me tummy about the thing.

I went through a fairly normal warm up routine for the justasprint. Jogging, stretching, more jogging, then some sprints, then more light jogging.

I had been conflicted about wearing a wet suit. I mean, after all this is/was justasprint, but everyone else is wearing a suit and triathalon is nothing if not a gear arms race. I gave in and wore the thing.

The swim was a run in from shore, shoot out about 100 yards, bang a right around the 1st buoy and swim parallel to the shore until the last buoy, where you bang another right and dash into shore. The whole thing is half a mile.

We started in waves according to age and sex. My wave was second to last. By the first turn I caught the last folks in the two waves ahead of me. By the last buoy it was complete bedlam -- I was swimming with someone from every single wave ahead of me. But hey. This was justasprint. So I tried to stay calm.

I got out of the water just under 11 mins. Not a great swim, but good enough.

I bomb through transition and I am a little unclear who among the competition is in my age group. Also, this is the first time I am racing on a nifty new bike (Slice 4 from Halter's Cycles) and a new triathlon fit and saddle (from Jon Blyer at ACME Bicycles). How fast would/could I go?

Still a little unclear.

The course was totally packed with a lot of newbies. I did a lot of shouting "ON YOUR LEFT". I tried to be as kind as possible, I don't want new people to be intimidated by the sport, but I do want them to follow the rules. Also, it is becoming clear at this point that I am at the front of my age group. This maybe justasprint, but I am not above working my tail off for a taste of the podium and knocking a few sweet tri-moms off their beach cruisers to get there.

On the first lap I did a little back and forth with a fella in my age group. I passed him coming out of transition, and then he passed me again about a mile or two in. I would remain behind him for the remainder of the first lap.

Heading out for the second loop, though, I would pass him for good on the bike.

In the end I came up with a good a ride as I possibly could get out of that crazy loop and traffic. Held 22.6 mph and was in a solid position for the run.

I bang through the last transition in 45 seconds and feel pretty good and ready for a run. And here is where you all should be prepared to call, "Bullshit".

+++

[Panting is heavy from a bit too high heart rate]

* jesus let's hold this together. everything feels good. could be a great run. shit that guy was right behind me. i wish i was a better runner. or at least a more confident one. jesus. is that him coming? wait, is he really on my heels, breathing down my neck? who does this guy think he is? *

[Quick check does in fact reveal that the guy I went back and forth with on bike is on my heels, "drafting" off my run]

*ok. ok. ok. just calm down. let him go. no harm here. you got to settle into your own pace.*

[I do in fact slow to let him pass, coming to -- almost -- a complete stop.]

* wait. this guy had to work his ass off to catch me. and he had the nerve to just hang on my heels? FUCKING. BULLSHIT. he's not taking this out of me, i'm going to take it out of him. *

[ With a slight pat on the back to let him know I am passing]

"Well, then I'm going to take it out of you then", I quipped, more than a little annoyed.

"You sure about that?" was his reply.

"Positive".

* dude if you are going to say stuff like that, you better prove it. also. that was some pretty confusing shit. you have to have a better opener than that, right?

ok. well you opened your fat mouth, now prove that shit *

[I proceed to charge ahead. Never once turning my head. I flatline through 2 miles. He isn't on heels any more, but I can't tell exactly where he is.]

* alright. mile 2. stay cool through the next 5 mins. then, let it all out. wow. wait. I think this is the guy again. and he has the balls to get on my shoulder AGAIN. maybe i shouldn't have said anything. maybe i wasn't so positive.*

[He does in fact get on my shoulder, riding me for the next two to three minutes. He is to my left.]

* wait. are you ACTUALLY bumping into ME? dude, i didn't come up from behind on you. you are choosing to be on MY shoulder. if you want to move, move. but don't go slamming into me.

you know what?

peace*

I am gone. I positively book it the last 500 yards. I actually feel like I could throw up if I was forced to hold that pace for 600 yards. But I only turned around to look at this guy once the whole race.

From the other side of the finish line.

+++


There are three good things I learned from this race.

A. At the end of the day this is still a race. And I understand there are tactics. But there is also just common courtesy. If you want to try and race someone by coming up behind them, it's just good form to either strike up some kind conversation (even mindless prattle like, "Hot day" is fine). If they make a clear indication they want no part of you back off. Don't draft off the back. Go side by side. Also. If you do attempt these types of shady moves you better be prepared to win.

B. Trash talking is fun. But you better back it up.

C. Justasprint my ass. Over the last three weeks I have had at least three weekday training blocks of 3 hours or more. This is not to say that I am bigger, badder, or tougher than anyone else. But to say that I take this all very seriously, maybe too seriously. I trash talked a complete stranger on a sunny sunday afternoon, and he tried to do the same. I walked away probably feeling too good about myself, and he, just maybe a little too bad.

* denotes thoughts of overly tense, raving lunatic.

Just a Wednesday Ride by sechap1980 at Garmin Connect - Details

Untitled by sechap1980 at Garmin Connect - Details

Go Time.

Make Me A Human Laugh Machine

Some day I might have a child. This goes in the face of what may, or may not, be a known truth about me: I am completely terrified of having (mostly raising) a child for a lot of reasons not worth going into now.

Actually, what I have openly said that “at this point in my life” I don’t want children and I can’t see a time when I might. And this point in my life has lasted a solid five years. I am just smart enough to know, however, that time changes things/people.

Lately the winds have been shifting on the baby front. Not a whole sea-change mind you. But as the missus and I settle in to married life, we want to shake out the last kinks we might not have gotten to over the last ten years.

And of course we waffle on this. I still contend that I think I would probably be pretty alright with never having children. While Katie is less certain. On other days Katie is pretty clear there will be no babies. These also happen to be the same days I more eagerly point out a little girl with particularly pretty ribbon in her hair, or a little crumb crusher with an ESPECIALLY over-sized back pack.

Her main claim, when arguing for breeding, is this, “But we would be such great parents!” Okay, everyone thinks this. Literally everyone. We are biologically programmed to believe it. Britney Spears has said it. Lohan’s parents. Everyone. This still remains the single worst reason to try to be a parent. Because you think you would be good at it.

I have a better reason. Kids are goddamn hilarious. It is like having a human laugh factory -- that you made -- set to entertain you 24 hours a day.

I live in Park Slope, Brooklyn, where I have first hand experience of this hilarity on a daily (hourly?) basis. Slopers are notorious for going on rampages about carriages not being allowed in bars. BARS!

And the bar in question relented! Wild stuff.

This puts together a pretty nice combo for humor. Really god awful know-it-all parents being shown up by their own progeny, who also turn out to be pretty god awful know-it-alls themselves. Just, you know, cuter. A perfect recipe.

For instance, I was walking around the neighborhood recently and I saw a kid, maybe about five, horsing around on a parking meter. He was climbing on it. Swinging around it. Just basically fucking around. Looked like a decent time, too. If I was 150 lbs lighter it is the very thing I would do every single time my mom spoke with one of her boring friends and neglected me. Take an inanimate object and turn it into a play ground. The alternative is to just stand there and listen to them list their favorite flavors of yarn, or kombucha.

This kid continues his circus act until his mom, who apparently skipped her fresh-squeezed hypertension juice this morning, comes running over and scolds him, “Excuse me, Mister. But, what makes you think that this is a good idea?!?”

I really wanted to interject, “Excuse me. Ma’am? Sorry to interrupt. But I think it looks like a GREAT idea! I mean here is this really dumb object, not really doing anything. But your son sort of decided to use the limber athleticism he still has to turn it into a game to occupy himself. He didn’t go all Cool-Hand-Luke on the meter or anything. Just sort of passing the time. All without interrupting your soliloquy on why it is so important for him to go to $2,000 standardize test prep-classes every week.”

I obviously didn’t say that, or anything for that matter. Mostly because I was afraid of her. I marked the event as another reason not to have kids and moved on to with my Saturday chores.

The last stop on my route was the bank. While filling out a deposit slip I noticed a young lad next to me doing some careful writing on the back of an envelope. Why it was our spry gymnast from before! Seemed he had found a more tame activity, compliant with his mother’s strict mores. He was taking his time with his writing, too. Very intent on getting the penmanship just right. It was clear he wanted his message clearly understood.

He wrote, “I HATE YOU”. Just like that. In all caps.

He slowly walked over to his mom, and gave it to her. He placed it in her hand and smiled back at her.

She didn’t freak-out or anything. Just sort of sighed and said, “Well, that’s just great. Thank you.”

Strangely, this event made me want children more.

A walk in the park

Oh, fresh fallen snow.

As cold as you come, you still

warm our frigid hearts.