While I'm sitting here typing up notes the manuscript for a first edition of a text book (Verdict? Very good! Only one chapter needs significant work before sending out for peer review. I think we should all be happy about that. This parenthetical statement has screwed up my sentence punctuation and I'm not going fix it.) . . . Oh, bag that sentence. I'll start over.
While I'm sitting here typing up notes on the manuscript for a first edition of a text book with Hong Kong Phooey on in the background a certain eleven-year-old is checking her stocks.
I know it's a school assignment, but I still feel like I was passed up along the way. She's mumbling about dividends and golden parachutes while I laugh at seventies-era karate dogs.
Showing posts with label matilda. Show all posts
Showing posts with label matilda. Show all posts
Monday, February 26, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Mike Love, Not War
Matilda has taken up the cello and is currently performing in the sixth grade orchestra. Since first playing the instrument in August, she has really gained some excellent control over it and is producing some quite melodious sounds. In fact, the only issue is that mom nearly has a heart attack when it needs to be tuned because she has no familiarity with a stringed instrument. She seizes up like a 1985 Chevy Celebrity on a 12% grade.
Not to fear. I can tune stringed things. From guitars to ukuleles to cheeses. A cello isn’t that difficult. It also helps that I’m lazy and own an electric tuner.
Matilda has gained enough confidence that she is entering a small ensemble and solos competition. She’s working on a piece with her friend who plays the violin. It’s pretty cool to consider. Next stop is the supergroup of minimalist quartets.
Last night was Matilda’s Festival of Strings, where the school district brings together all the orchestras from 5th through High School. They each played a few selections and then together gave us “Ode to Joy”. Not the whole movement, mind you. Just a few bars.
Matilda had been working really hard on her selections and I recognized a few. But there was one they were playing that had her especially excited. One that she knew would also have me especially excited.
So last night, as we sat in the audience the sixth grade orchestra played their first two selections. Two very nice songs. Then they rocked “Fun Fun Fun” by the Beach Boys. Matilda smiled the whole time. Matilda knew how excited I would be to hear Brian Wilson as interpreted by 11 year-olds.
The reprehensible boor that sat behind us (that’s another story) scoffed, “They’re playing the Beach Boys! Those kids don’t even know who they are.”
I turned around and said, “Mine knows who wrote this song, much less who performed it!” Boorish Oaf Lady didn’t care. I suspect because she assumes the Beach Boys are really some guy in a hat with a nasally voice and not really the genius of Brian Wilson.
As the final chord faded, the crowed clapped. I cheered the loudest, I suspect, because I know I was probably the proudest parent there.
Matilda gave me the thumbs up when it was over. She was very proud to be playing Brian Wilson for me and she took quite a bit of joy in it too. I doubt there were many other parents and kids as proud at that moment as the two of us.
I think I’ll let her keep the T-Bird for a little while at least.
Not to fear. I can tune stringed things. From guitars to ukuleles to cheeses. A cello isn’t that difficult. It also helps that I’m lazy and own an electric tuner.
Matilda has gained enough confidence that she is entering a small ensemble and solos competition. She’s working on a piece with her friend who plays the violin. It’s pretty cool to consider. Next stop is the supergroup of minimalist quartets.
Last night was Matilda’s Festival of Strings, where the school district brings together all the orchestras from 5th through High School. They each played a few selections and then together gave us “Ode to Joy”. Not the whole movement, mind you. Just a few bars.
Matilda had been working really hard on her selections and I recognized a few. But there was one they were playing that had her especially excited. One that she knew would also have me especially excited.
So last night, as we sat in the audience the sixth grade orchestra played their first two selections. Two very nice songs. Then they rocked “Fun Fun Fun” by the Beach Boys. Matilda smiled the whole time. Matilda knew how excited I would be to hear Brian Wilson as interpreted by 11 year-olds.
The reprehensible boor that sat behind us (that’s another story) scoffed, “They’re playing the Beach Boys! Those kids don’t even know who they are.”
I turned around and said, “Mine knows who wrote this song, much less who performed it!” Boorish Oaf Lady didn’t care. I suspect because she assumes the Beach Boys are really some guy in a hat with a nasally voice and not really the genius of Brian Wilson.
As the final chord faded, the crowed clapped. I cheered the loudest, I suspect, because I know I was probably the proudest parent there.
Matilda gave me the thumbs up when it was over. She was very proud to be playing Brian Wilson for me and she took quite a bit of joy in it too. I doubt there were many other parents and kids as proud at that moment as the two of us.
I think I’ll let her keep the T-Bird for a little while at least.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Riding Indoors is Dangerous
I've hit my stride again. It's been cold, I've been sick, the bike was sick . . . in December and January everything conspired against my sitting my butt in the saddle.
No more! I'm back on my usual schedule of two on, one off of indoor training and have discovered an unnatural love of the more endurance style intervals. Sure, sprints are nice, but the long, slow build of a climbing repeat and the weird sensation that I'm actually stronger at the end of the third repeat than I was on the first is a giddy feeling.
NOTE: There is a Gert/Matilda story at the bottom of all this. I will tag it with the word "Shazam!" in bold, if you want to skip the cycling babble.
One thing I miss about riding outdoors, other than being outdoors and the actual sensation of riding, are the other cyclists. For the most part, cyclists fall into three categories:
1. Recreational: Serious, but out for fun. Often wearing weird clothes, with panniers sometimes, or in one case, on a black road bike with a pink basket. Seriously. Generally road/trail rule Nazis, but in a nice way. Tourists, retirees, fit families. Generally chatty and kind, will always stop to ask if you need help if you pull of to the side for any reason.
2. Hardcore: Self-explanatory. There are two types. Dickheads and nice guys. If they ride alone they tend to be arrogant, selfish, pissed-off dickheads. I don't say this in a bad way. Often, on a windy day, you can count on someone hanging on your wheel without letting you know they've shown up and suck your wheel for a while and then pass you on a hill without so much as a wave. The dickheads tend to think they are better than everyone else out there and that you, as the guy or gal who is not on their team or in their club, do not deserve to share the road with them. Key point: They never wave to other cyclists. This is important.
That being said, there are also hardcore cyclists that are out there and enjoy the community aspect of cycling. They'll announce themselves as they come up behind you, stop to chat, talk about bikes, etc. They'll always stop to see if someone needs help and will compliment you on a good ride of they come up and follow you. You'll laugh together as they watch you overcook a turn and nearly slide across the road and you'll admire their climbing skills as you slowly slip away from them on a long hill.
These guys always wave, nod and say hello to any cyclist on the road. Any cyclist. A local racer, who oozes respect around here, is fond of saying that no matter what you're doing acknowledge each cyclist you see. Because two miles down the road it may be their hand pump that saves your ass or their patch kit, tools, or anything else you might have forgotten when an unfortunate situation occurs.
I try to be the second type, but I'm too self-hating to think I belong to either group. I don't feel at that level yet. I probably am, but I still feel like the chubby guy huffing up a hill.
3. The spur of the moment cyclist. They generally come out on holiday weekends and ride big box store bikes. There is nothing wrong with this and I personally feel that anyone out on the road is a good thing. But safety-wise they can be a nightmare.
Why? Well, 90% don't wear helmets or are wearing the wrong helmets or are wearing improperly fitted helmets. That's okay though, since it's their thick brain pan that will be oozing out the very goo that gives them motor functions.
Simply put, they do not know the rules. They often ride in groups of four, spread across the road or trail. If they are on a trail they can't seem to stay on their side and come barreling straight at you. They do not know how to signal that they are stopping, turning, slowing, etc. They often don't even announce "on your left" when they pass people. You gotta let people know you're there. Walkers, riders, skaters, cars (though not by shouting). When you call out to let them know that you are coming by they freak out and yell at you. That happens to me a lot.
And then there's the weaving.
Those that come out more than one time quickly learn the rules of the road and trails.
I'm not complaining, mind you. Just my observation. Some roadies are dicks, some touring cyclists are weird, some roadies are nice, mountain bikers tend to be the nicest, holiday warriors are dangerous.
Let the hate mail flow.
Shazam!
Riding inside today I was feeling fantastic. I was back at my favorite ride time, doing my favorite indoor workout and having a great time. I'm going through a particularly intense section of the workout when in comes Matilda. I figure she's getting something out of the room.
Apparently not. She walks up to my bike, looks me in the eye and bellows (at inhuman levels), "Ooort! Ooort! Ooort! WAAAAAAAH! Oooort!" And she's gone. Why did she do this? I do not know. But I can assure you that it was, in fact, the most annoying sound ever to emanate out of a human mouth.
Later, when I was getting ready to "sprint to the line" at the end of my final interval, Gert comes in the room. She tackles the cat, then complains that the cat does not love her. Raising my cadence I grunt in understanding.
Then, for a reason that is not yet clear and that psychologists may never understand even after years of study she jumps in front of my bike, starts doing the Cabbage Patch, chanting, "Oh yeah. Uh huh. That's right. Oh yeah." And she's gone.
My wife apologized for teaching her the dance, but I still do not understand why she did it. In a way, however, it felt a little like being on a stage of the Tour and having some lunatic run along side of me while I rode up a mountain.
That being said, if one of the kids dumps water on me they are so grounded.
No more! I'm back on my usual schedule of two on, one off of indoor training and have discovered an unnatural love of the more endurance style intervals. Sure, sprints are nice, but the long, slow build of a climbing repeat and the weird sensation that I'm actually stronger at the end of the third repeat than I was on the first is a giddy feeling.
NOTE: There is a Gert/Matilda story at the bottom of all this. I will tag it with the word "Shazam!" in bold, if you want to skip the cycling babble.
One thing I miss about riding outdoors, other than being outdoors and the actual sensation of riding, are the other cyclists. For the most part, cyclists fall into three categories:
1. Recreational: Serious, but out for fun. Often wearing weird clothes, with panniers sometimes, or in one case, on a black road bike with a pink basket. Seriously. Generally road/trail rule Nazis, but in a nice way. Tourists, retirees, fit families. Generally chatty and kind, will always stop to ask if you need help if you pull of to the side for any reason.
2. Hardcore: Self-explanatory. There are two types. Dickheads and nice guys. If they ride alone they tend to be arrogant, selfish, pissed-off dickheads. I don't say this in a bad way. Often, on a windy day, you can count on someone hanging on your wheel without letting you know they've shown up and suck your wheel for a while and then pass you on a hill without so much as a wave. The dickheads tend to think they are better than everyone else out there and that you, as the guy or gal who is not on their team or in their club, do not deserve to share the road with them. Key point: They never wave to other cyclists. This is important.
That being said, there are also hardcore cyclists that are out there and enjoy the community aspect of cycling. They'll announce themselves as they come up behind you, stop to chat, talk about bikes, etc. They'll always stop to see if someone needs help and will compliment you on a good ride of they come up and follow you. You'll laugh together as they watch you overcook a turn and nearly slide across the road and you'll admire their climbing skills as you slowly slip away from them on a long hill.
These guys always wave, nod and say hello to any cyclist on the road. Any cyclist. A local racer, who oozes respect around here, is fond of saying that no matter what you're doing acknowledge each cyclist you see. Because two miles down the road it may be their hand pump that saves your ass or their patch kit, tools, or anything else you might have forgotten when an unfortunate situation occurs.
I try to be the second type, but I'm too self-hating to think I belong to either group. I don't feel at that level yet. I probably am, but I still feel like the chubby guy huffing up a hill.
3. The spur of the moment cyclist. They generally come out on holiday weekends and ride big box store bikes. There is nothing wrong with this and I personally feel that anyone out on the road is a good thing. But safety-wise they can be a nightmare.
Why? Well, 90% don't wear helmets or are wearing the wrong helmets or are wearing improperly fitted helmets. That's okay though, since it's their thick brain pan that will be oozing out the very goo that gives them motor functions.
Simply put, they do not know the rules. They often ride in groups of four, spread across the road or trail. If they are on a trail they can't seem to stay on their side and come barreling straight at you. They do not know how to signal that they are stopping, turning, slowing, etc. They often don't even announce "on your left" when they pass people. You gotta let people know you're there. Walkers, riders, skaters, cars (though not by shouting). When you call out to let them know that you are coming by they freak out and yell at you. That happens to me a lot.
And then there's the weaving.
Those that come out more than one time quickly learn the rules of the road and trails.
I'm not complaining, mind you. Just my observation. Some roadies are dicks, some touring cyclists are weird, some roadies are nice, mountain bikers tend to be the nicest, holiday warriors are dangerous.
Let the hate mail flow.
Shazam!
Riding inside today I was feeling fantastic. I was back at my favorite ride time, doing my favorite indoor workout and having a great time. I'm going through a particularly intense section of the workout when in comes Matilda. I figure she's getting something out of the room.
Apparently not. She walks up to my bike, looks me in the eye and bellows (at inhuman levels), "Ooort! Ooort! Ooort! WAAAAAAAH! Oooort!" And she's gone. Why did she do this? I do not know. But I can assure you that it was, in fact, the most annoying sound ever to emanate out of a human mouth.
Later, when I was getting ready to "sprint to the line" at the end of my final interval, Gert comes in the room. She tackles the cat, then complains that the cat does not love her. Raising my cadence I grunt in understanding.
Then, for a reason that is not yet clear and that psychologists may never understand even after years of study she jumps in front of my bike, starts doing the Cabbage Patch, chanting, "Oh yeah. Uh huh. That's right. Oh yeah." And she's gone.
My wife apologized for teaching her the dance, but I still do not understand why she did it. In a way, however, it felt a little like being on a stage of the Tour and having some lunatic run along side of me while I rode up a mountain.
That being said, if one of the kids dumps water on me they are so grounded.
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