Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
American Digest: And I like this from "The Blog That Nobody Reads", because it is -- mostly -- about me. What can I say? I'm on an ego trip today. It won't last.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Dr. Melissa Clouthier: Morgan Freeberg at House of Eratosthenes (pftthats a mouthful) honors big boned women in skimpy clothing. The picture there is priceless--keep scrolling down.
Exile in Portales: Via Gerard: Morgan Freeberg, a guy with a lot to say. And he speaks The Truth...and it's fascinating stuff. Worth a read, or three. Or six.
Just Muttering: Two nice pieces at House of Eratosthenes, one about a perhaps unintended effect of the Enron mess, and one on the Gore-y environ-movie.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
The Virginian: I know this post will offend some people, but the author makes some good points.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
So at Rainbow Bridge I’m stopping off, 28 miles into my mountain bike run, four miles from home. I’m re-hydrating and replying to text messages. The sun is just beating down, all the asphalt is throwing off the heat it’s been absorbing all day long. I’m wearing a thick stinky coat of 4 SPF tanning oil, and I’m about as dressed-up as Tarzan. And oops, I looked in the wrong direction, down, at my Revos that gave me a perfect view of my shirtless bod. Erk!
Didn’t look as bad as I thought.
I thought the bod would say, “Hi everyone, I’m that geek you used to shove in garbage cans, except now I’m at age 42, with biceps the size of rake handles, my girlfriend’s a great cook, my Perfect Pushups have a thick layer of dust on ’em, and I never jog because I am a Blogger Extraordinaire.” The bod would have been well within its rights to say that. Instead, it said “I eat too much meat and drink too much beer and don’t get my heart rate up as often as I should, but stay in shape by beating up on myself. If you don’t have what it takes to finish a fight, don’t start one here.” THIS…IS…SPARTA!!! Yeah…this is Sparta, with a gut. But with a real chest, and real arms.
Granted you have to be in your fifties before that message is flattering. But I’ll take it. Looked like — a prehistoric hunter who had the skills to keep his family well-fed. No such thing as jogging, but good at having adventures in the outdoors, thinking on his feet, and absorbing punishment. A visibly robust constitution. Like making it into the eighties shouldn’t be a problem. I would have expected much worse.
That’s nice to see. Us forty-year-olds are all about “where the hell is the halfway point?” Am I in back of it, on top of it, or waaaaay past it? That’s the health question for this decade.
But the real rush happened when I turned around and faced the river. A quarter of a mile out there, and a couple hundred feet down, were a couple of cuties struggling upstream in kayaks, one blond and one brunette. Half my age, tops. The blond, perhaps forgetting how conspicuous such a gesture would be, raised a finger to pull down those thick-framed fashion sunglasses just a sliver, and drank in some captivating visual in my direction…in which there was nothing to see…at all, whatsoever…save moi.
Heheheheh.
Honestly, that poor girl needs to raise her standards just a tad. But what the hell.
Today’s high — one one oh. Yeowch. When I finally made it home, it was nearly six o’clock. With the AC cranked, one bottle of cold water down the hatch, and then a bottle of sport drink, my sweat glands were still going nuts and they didn’t calm down until I swam a couple of laps.
I have to admit, this would not have been my mode of transportation if I had done my research. Not for that time of day, anyhow. The fires are beatin’ the hell out of us and the air quality is still pretty bad; this kind of physical punishment is best done at the other end of the day. Couldn’t be helped.
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