I Just Want to be Left Alone

Well, geesh. So much for spring.

One of the advantages of cold, gray, drizzly days is that I get the hike-and-bike trail largely to myself; and one of the disadvantages of the hike-and-bike trail is that it makes an excellent backdrop for local-news lifestyle stories, student movies, and TV commercials. Fine. Great if you happen to be involved in producing such a venture, as you have a beautiful, free resource at your fingertips. Not so great if you're a miserable peon like myself, who can't even go for a brisk lunch hour stroll without occasionally getting filmed - and not at your prettiest either. Who wants to appear on camera sweaty, flushed, and in gym clothes? After the fourth or fifth time this happens, you start to understand exactly where Sean Penn is coming from.

Today a good-sized crew was filming a commercial under the South First bridge, so there was a motorcycle cop stationed in the road to keep people from driving onto the set, and a cute guy deflecting approaching pedestrians.

I cooperated and stepped aside to wait, uncomplainingly,* though I really don't see how these people get off just co-opting the whole trail at will. The jogger twenty seconds behind me was much less tolerant. "How am I supposed to run then? Huh?!" he demanded, not unreasonably I thought, then jogged angrily off towards the street. Fortunately the take really was just as quick as the cute guy said it would be, so I was back on my way within two minutes. The jogger overtook me several seconds later, still looking pissed off. Bet he was straight. I should have run after him.

Nah, I'm just kidding: no offense to any joggers who happen to be reading. I just don't believe habitual runners are entirely normal.**

For me at least, excessive physical activity is the sign of a deeply distressed mind: I can't sit still for long, but have to get up and move, walk about, pace, like a caged animal. Misery makes a great weight-loss aid. (Unless you're a comfort eater.) I'm not talking about a dull, throbbing ache, or a sense of general purposelessness, or angst or mere ennui: no, but I've always found that sharp emotional anguish does wonders for my figure.

But it doesn't last... mercifully, I suppose. Before you even know it, and long before you would have thought it was possible, the world begins to look normal again and you go most of a week simply forgetting to be unhappy. First you have to go through all the Official Stages™ of Grief: Denial, Anger, Sorrow, and finally Acceptance*** - which would be perfectly fine, if you didn't go through them in sequence five or six times during a single day, which tends to give you whiplash. But gosh darnit if life doesn't just go right along and next thing you know you can't remember quite what you were so upset about. I don't know about you, but it makes me feel a bit like Peggy Lee.

Or maybe Sean Penn. I think I'll maybe take a kickboxing class this fall. That way I'll be better equipped to deal with the film crews and photographers on the hike-and-bike.

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*Did I mention there was a cute guy?
**srsly. We're talking compared to me, here. You cannot possibly be offended.
***Your mileage may vary

Trail's End

You know that path that runs along MoPac just north of the river? I tried to get to that today, but I couldn't find it. How do you get there?

I don't know why I'm asking you. I've got Google Maps same as you have. And I call myself a geographer!

It's fun to enjoy the hike-and bike trail from a different perspective for a change. Normally, of course, I walk on it, along a very specific stretch - as far as I can get from my office and still be back in one hour. My path includes the Statesman, the Congress Avenue Bridge, the South First Bridge; Auditorium Shores, wet dogs, and Stevie; the railroad bridge, pedestrian bridge, and Lamar Bridge; up to Lou Neff Point and back. I scaled it in Arc once - the round trip is about three miles.

On a bike, of course, you can go a lot further, but you have to watch out for obstacles like double-wide strollers, joggers engrossed in their iPods, and dogs - who aren't terribly concerned about whether you run them over or not. The dogs along Auditorium Shores bring down a lot of bikers. But this is perfectly normal, and nothing to be concerned about.

When I ride my bike at lunch, I turn around at the pedestrian bridge under MoPac; but I've always wondered where the trail goes from there. It turns out it doesn't go far, petering out altogether at Eilers Park. What a pity - what I was really hoping for was to find that trail along MoPac and maybe hop up to Camp Hubba Hubba and drop in on Tony and Pinche Robert, who actually went in to work on Texas Independence Day. And they call themselves geographers!

Patriots, I meant to say patriots.

No luck there, but it was still a good day for me. I bought a new pair of shoes - flats, I'm sorry to say, but my jogging shoes were wearing out and there are some things even I won't do in heels. Then I had to go on a nice long walk around the neighborhood to break them in. Keep moving... keep moving...

And I did in fact move all the plants in the world back out front to their summer headquarters, so I hope the weather won't let me down, unlike old blind Romeo, who I can't help noticing is pooping in a potted basil as I type this. You probably don't want to eat pesto at my house.

Happy, happy spring - if it is spring! Here's to new beginnings.

And What Is So Rare as a Day in February?

It's a lot easier to rhyme with "June," which is the main reason there aren't more great poets from Texas.

Have you ever actually read that poem? I never did before today, but I remember the "so rare as a day in June" line because it was the pivotal clue in a children's mystery story about phila - philatel - er, stamp-collecting that I read as a kid. I've just gone and looked it up and you know what?

That is one long-ass poem.

It's okay. I tend to get long-winded myself. That's why I don't have time to take down Christmas lights.

In the Air

If I'd timed things better, I'd be making this, my four hundred-twentieth post, on April 20, which would be sort of marginally cool but really pretty stupid, especially seeing as how my parents probably have no idea what I'm talking about.

So forget I said anything.

But 80-degree temperatures out at almost 10 at night mean that spring has officially sprung, I think. It's a time of new beginnings: Bryan's out in two more days; Thomas gave official notice today; the trees are leafy and green; the grackles are in full courtship mode, which is always annoying.

Today we saw a female doing the courtship dance, which surprised Robbie. Normally the females stand around looking bored while the males puff up their neck feathers and race around screeching, those suave bastards. But this one was putting the moves on in her own right. You go, girl! It's good to see grackle liberation. And what else is a girl supposed to do if she likes a boy who's much too shy to make the first move on her? You gotta dance.

Unlike the rest of us in our department, Thomas has some fairly specialized job duties. I suppose he's what you'd call a Government Official. I've been tapped to take those on, and it really makes you wonder: can it be truly fulfilling to hold a position of unique importance, playing a role that's vital to your organization's function, if your overall organization is kind of silly and pointless in the grander scheme of things?

Thomas apparently didn't think so. Then again, it's not a bad metaphor for life on earth in general.

It's much too nice out now to be glum about these things, especially if someone would shut the damn grackles up already.

Stuff To Do On April Fools' Day

- Avoid all contact with anyone mischievous. I'll see you tomorrow, when it's safer.

- Send a birthday e-card to my cousin Irene!

- Finally get around to ordering a Flying Spaghetti Monster emblem for my car, thereby completing its utter coolness.

- Don't go to Spamarama. I'm totally going to Eeyore's Birthday Party this year, though.

- Wonder if it was a good idea to mulch the poison ivy plants in with the grass while mowing.

- Congratulate self for finally managing to purchase and install the correct pedals on my son's bike, after only two weeks of not having the use of my own, one trip to Bicycle Sport Shop and two trips to Wal-Mart.

- Enjoy a renewed sense of what an excellent bowler I'm not. (The ultimate question: What is an unusually high bowling score for Beth?)

- Sit outside in the sun, under a canopy of spring green leaves and an impossibly blue sky, and feel as happy as a fool.