new blog

Hello to those of you who have managed to discover this new blog, via the link from my blogspot blog. I salute you and your implacable determination, not to say muleheadishness.

I trust you will enjoy the new improved version. Have a look around, feel the quality, test the features. Knock yourselves out. Yes, a lot of the content will seem familiar to you, but that’s because it was all gold, and simply couldn’t be discarded. If you notice any errors, it’s all the fault of wordpress, who don’t yet fully understand the depth and breadth of my blogging genius.

If, on the other hand, you’ve managed to crawl or stagger upon this journal via other means, (hi there), any errors or other deficiencies are completely and utterly the fault of blogger. I can’t take responsibility, I’m afraid.

So, a new blog. I’ve spent today clicking around the new software/site/whatever you call it. It seems a bit better – a nice search function “out of the box” and some more flexibility with tags and categories. WordPress does have an alarming tendency to have text saying “hey there” all over the place which makes me want to vomit, punch the screen then have a lie down. I guess I’ll have to get used to it.

alternate universe

I’ve always thought I was pretty grounded, eyes open, very much a part of the real world. In the last 24 hours there have been a couple of things that make me suspect I’m living in an alternate universe.

If this is reality, I don’t want any part of it:

1. Posh spice has been named the world’s sexiest mama
   Victoria’s Secret executives and designers voted, and they think Posh Spice is the sexiest mum.
2. Nicholas Cage is ready to quit acting
   Eh, acting? Since when? Oh, so that explains what he was doing in Con Air.

Stop the ride. I want to get off. A world that thinks Victoria Beckham is sexy and that Nicholas Cage can act is no place for me.

Running
I’m currently in tense negotiations with a fellow runner on the issue of a run this lunch-time. She feels reluctant to run in dripping wet clothes. I can’t think why.

hobble

Not to worry – it wasn’t me hobbling. Not at all, it was Wayne Carey who was “hobbled” by Miami police in a recent trip to the US.

Apparently he was:

“angry, drunk, and violent” and his speech was rapid.
from the age.

This was surprising: he hadn’t been hanging out with Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty was nowhere to be seen.

The Miami coppers made the tactical error of waking Wayne as he lay passed out on his hotel bed. He reacted by punching and kicking them. Even after they managed to get him into the divvy van (or local equivalent) he carried on headbutting the windows, as you do.

That’s when they put him in a hobble, a “device used to restrain combative, violent, high-risk people”.

I’m always amazed by people who beat up police officers. It’s the height of stupidity. There’s no way it’s going to end well.

If I was going to beat someone up, they’d be the last people I’d choose. For one thing, they’re usually bigger than me. Also they have guns and hundreds of mates. Oh, and there’s the small matter of the judicial system, which tends to look askance at roughing up the constabulary.

It’d probably be wise to choose someone smaller than me, which limits things a fair bit. I don’t know, Lleyton Hewitt looks pretty small on tv and he certainly has it coming.

Moving on, the thing is, the Miami incident was on October 27 last year. The latest, erm, outburst was last weekend at his “luxury Port Melbourne apartment”. That’s one hell of a bender.

Fellow former footballer, Wayne Schwass, made an early entry in the “understatement of the year” awards:

His actions certainly suggest that there are a number of things going on in his life.

You think?

I must say, seriously, I’m very surprised and disappointed by the whole recent Wayne Carey situation. I’ve always looked upon WC as an example of grace and dignity, intelligence and moral courage.

Or something.

Running
What do doctors know eh? If I had have seen a quack this morning, he would have taken a look at my blood-shot eyes and snuffly nose, diagnosed a common cold and forbade me from running. As always, I knew better. I had an invigorating 14km run, including 7 jaunts up Anderson street. It took right on an hour, which was pretty pleasing progress.

Now I feel 100% better, chock full of vim and vitality and other things beginning with v.

the national obesity crisis

Yes, apparently it’s a problem. Every man and his dog and/or cat is an idle, lazy, donut-scoffing fatty boombatty. It’s the government’s fault, the parent’s fault, the media’s fault or just our own stupid fault.

In this case, when I say “they” I don’t just mean the general “they” who run everything, I mean the Ausrun forum:

Media topic: lose weight, get fit program

I’ve had my two cents worth, and I won’t bore you with it again. My theory, in a nutshell, is that we’re lazy and we eat crap because it’s easier to eat crap and sit on the couch then go for a brisk 10km run. The only way to get people off the couch is to make it a less comfortable place to be. Possibly with spikes. Red hot spikes. They worked for Yael, the wife of Heber.

(Yes I know that’s a biblical reference but, in my defence, it comes via PG Wodehouse).

Running
26.5km this morning in just on two hours. Coming off a short, painful, vomit inducing excuse for a run yesterday, this was quite encouraging. Here it is on mapmyrun.

oh that was surreal

It’s officially time to declare a moritorium on the use of the word “surreal”. I can understand sports-people and Kath Day-Knight using it, as both have only a very loose handle on the English language at the best of times, but when journalists start slipping it into sentences as if it’s serious commentary, enough is ENOUGH.

I don’t have time to go into what surrealism actually is, (see wikipedia), but it’s extremely unlikely that every tennis player/actor/logies starlet/Bronlow medalist with a microphone shoved in their faces are having surreal experiences.

As a rule, if there aren’t actually dripping clocks or hundreds of men with umbrellas falling from the sky, it’s not surreal!

From the age today:

The times are also surreal for Novak Djokovic.

That surprises me. If it’s true, it will probably liven up the Australian Open final today.

If, as I suspect, it’s another case of a journalist being lazy, may I refer him or her to a little publication called “Roget’s thesaurus”. If you can’t be bothered opening a book, it’s even online.

Here’s a few alternatives, to get you started:

accidental, amazing, astonishing, chance, electrifying, extraordinary, fortuitous, from left field*, impulsive, out of the blue*, remarkable, shocking, startling, stunning, sudden, unanticipated, unforeseen, unpredictable, unpredicted, without warning, wonderful

Running
A bit of a change of plan. A short, revolting 9km run this morning. The long run will happen tomorrow.

straya day, gloomy

Last night, Andrew asked whether I read other blogs before I post, or post first. To be completely honest, he didn’t ask me specifically; it was more of a rhetorical thing. For the purposes of this post I’ll pretend he was speaking to yours truly.

I usually chatter along to myself on the morning run, and whatever I remember gets typed down hastily when I make it back to the PC. That’s most days. On the days when I don’t run I have to engage in some crude plagiarism or, as I like to call it, seeking inspiration.

Which brings me to the “gloomy” from today’s title. My favourite source of blogging inspiration, Frankie Valley, seems to have abruptly ceased blogging.

And One Final Thing That Really Gets My Goat

That’s it. Done. Not even room for a comment.

I feel stunned, aghast, completely lost for words, inarticulate. So, nothing new there.

Running
I’m away for the weekend, sunning myself somewhere sandy and wet. I do have a run planned – along the Great Southern Rail Trail. It looks good, aside from an alarming 3k section near Koonwarra where the trail drops out for some god-awful reason.

That being said, all the maps online were made in 2004 and promise the trail will be fixed “soon”, “in the future” or “some time in 2005”. That means the powers that be have had 4 years to fix three bridges and a bit of gravel, which should be more than enough. Shouldn’t it?

I’m not holding my breath.

Shoelaces
My shoelace hypothesis of plantar fascitis seems to have some experimental support. Ever since I stopped the whiz-bang shoe-tying technique my feet have resumed their normal, if slightly whiffy state. Here’s what got me into trouble:

Note the loops on either side. You tie a normal bow and the loops pull it nice and tight. Like a noose.

Avoid this…

nigella lawson, tyra banks and rotting fish

Before you say anything, I’m no starry-eyed idealist. I know about global warming, the war on terror, imminent global recessions and the like. But still, sometimes you have to say the world’s not such a bad place.

Take this: Marieke Hardy describing the experience of watching a Nigella Lawson cooking show as:

like being tied up with leather straps and flogged by Enid Blyton.

You know what: she’s completely, 100% correct. What’s more, it’s the kind of image that should brighten everyone’s day.

Or perhaps it’s just me.

Anyway, that’s one good thing. Also, I don’t know if you saw this but apparently on America’s Next Top Model tonight “each contestant is asked to hang upside down in a net filled with rotting fish.”

Any world that can turn Tyra Banks into a fetid sardine on prime-time TV is all-right by me.

Running
This morning’s lazy stroll around the Tan this morning was so enjoyable I felt I had to do it twice. The second time was even more enjoyable, if a touch sweatier than normal.

these celebrities do live don’t they?

Imagine that: lazy Tuesday afternoons spent hanging out sprawled Mary-Kate Olsen’s bed, naked and manically stuffing pills into every orifice.

It’s not exactly the way I’d choose to spend my time, but whatever floats your boat, eh Heath?

Or sinks it, in this case.

I can see the above is probably not in the best of taste, given recent events, and I agree it is a bit sad, especially for his little daughter and family. But jeez, what a way to go!

Zoos
I’m not sure what’s happening in Melbourne’s zoos at the moment. They seem to think it’s okay to stab elephants with marlin spikes, take small animals on excursions to Phillip Island and take them home for show and tell at ritzy parties. It’s all in this article from the Age: Zoo chief’s home became menagerie for fund-raising event.

Who’s running these places, DIMIA?

Update
It appears the Mary Kate Olsen thing was a tad-bit inaccurate, no doubt due to some journo getting over-excited. Apparently our Heath died in his own apartment.

There you go: this is possibly the only time an Olsen twin has made a story more interesting.

Interesting deaths
Speaking of interesting deaths, apparently Kenyan marathon runner Wesley Ngetich has been killed by a poisoned arrow. You don’t see that too often these days, at least not around these parts.

I would question the wisdom of murdering marathon runners, particularly ones who can run the distance in 2 hours 12. If he comes back to haunt you you’ll never outrun him.