What?

I just had a post disappear on me. Has that ever happened to anyone else who uses Blogger? I published it 12 hours ago, and now there's no sign of it.

Rainy-night entertainment

I know this blog is quickly devolving into Stupid Novice Photographer Tricks, but this is me trying to lick my elbow. Well, this is as close as I came to glory.

The agony of defeat.

Bring on the job interviews. I'm ready for my close-up.

Baby steps

It's been a good couple of days, non-employment-accomplishment-wise.

I got my chicken legs back on the road today to do three 2-milers -- full rest in between -- with relatively encouraging results.

#1
Goal: 12:30
Times: 6:05 & 5:46 = 11:51

#2
Goal: 14:00
Times: 6:34 & 6:21 = 12:55

#3
Goal: 15:30
Times: 7:08 & 6:40 = 13:48

Play-er

A first for me: I took down a multi-table tournament. Stranger still, it was a fixed-limit tournament, only the second one I've ever played.

The stats: 233 players, 24 tables, $10 buy-in, $572 for first place.

Save me from myself

It is 4 a.m., the wrong side. There is an iron plate in the street; it covers a manhole or a pothole or a rabbithole and every time a car runs over it, it clatters. Two loud crashes in quick succession. And it is keeping me awake so thoroughly that I want to throw everything I own out the window in the hopes that it lands on the iron plate and muffles the noise so I can sleep.

Zoo

Went to the zoo today ...

No curbing this enthusiasm.

Tigers. Nature's most unlampoonable animals.

"Oh yeah? Well, YOU have something on YOUR nose!"

A lorikeet in heet is very ambitious.

Meerkats were the most anthropomorphic -- and, not coincidentally, stupid-looking -- animals in the zoo.

"Easy, Don Juan deMeerkat ... how about a nice dinner first?"

I am feeding lorikeets. That is a cup of nectar in my right hand. And that is the fear of a crap-covered cranium you see on my face.

This one goes out to Joel and Duc. Hang loose, boys.

This is King Louie, the albino alligator. His feeder has shown him the movie "Powder" 637 times; next time, he takes a finger.

Beautiful.

A warthog. Designed by God at 4:55 p.m. on a Friday.

Back on the trail

After an inexplicable weeklong layoff, I ran again today. 6:09 & 6:29 = 12:38. Oh my God, was it hot. 92 freakin' degrees. A poor start to fall.

Kerflooey

I'm up at 4:30. Not in the normal, whydidieverbecomeacopyeditor way; on the other side. I pulled an all-nighter Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, my first non-casiono all-nighter since college, in the hopes of adjusting my sleep schedule so I'm not up until 5 a.m. the rest of my life.

It's the adult thing to do. And now it's time for some Peanut Butter Cookie Crisp and Cinnamon Toast Mini-Waffles.

29 reporting-job applications. Mailing them today. That's why I haven't blogged in a few days. Next batch is 23. I have a Grizzly Adams motif firmly in place, too. Newspapers, address all correspondence to "The Apartment That Razors Forgot".

I traipse

I walked a mile to Kinko's holding a box, because I'd be bringing 350 copies of news clips back with me. I might as well have pushed a shopping cart there, for all the sideways glances I got.

That's it. That's as interesting as the day was. Except I watched Punch-Drunk Love. Good stuff.

I split the difference

No Shox. No bogus kicks. No socks that say "Trailer Trash" on the bottom -- those "aren't selling very well," deadpanned the girl at the running store.

I went for the $85 Air Max Somethingorothers -- they were tight on the heel (mine is narrow) and cushiony in the front (my footstrike wears that area out pretty fast). And by the end of my 7 miles today (uh-huh!) I barely noticed them. Good shoes.

Oh, the highlight of my subsequent park trip was the nervous guy pulling up in his car and trying to get directions to adult bookstores -- "the ones with the private booths."

"Connections? Triangles?" he jittered.

"I have no idea if you are naming traffic patterns or adult bookstores, sir," I thought.

"Man, just follow such-and-such and go left at such-and such, and that'll take you right downtown," I said instead.

"And Triangles is at Jefferson and Broadway?" More twitching and voice-cracking.

"Man, I really don't know. Just go downtown."

And off he went.

So the 7 miles. It's the most I've run in one sitting since I lived on the beach. 5:32 for the first, 6:23 for the second for an 11:55 deuce. Then I dragged my dead legs through five slow, slow miles, including a jaunt into the woods on a dirt trail.

Sloth burns calories

I lost a half-pound yesterday. The most strenuous activity was raising my eyebrows at the horse's head scene in The Godfather. I'd never seen the film before, which is inexcusable, but I've seen it now. And it's the kind of movie that devalues other movies you've seen, not just because it's so much better but because it also happens to be the movie that many of those other movies imitated. This belongs in my pantheon of films, up there with Die Hard With A Vengeance.

(Ed. note: There were 30 situps. But w/o a spotter, they can't be confirmed as legitimate. So the eyebrow-raise stands as the day's heaviest physical burden.)

Skills

The sun was a little less direct yesterday, the air a little less heavy, and I'd had a day off, so I figured I could beat Sunday's times pretty easily. I was right. 5:48 & 6:13 = 12:01 for the first deuce, and I missed the split time on the second but finished in 15:24. Forty-nine seconds quicker for the fast one, 41 seconds quicker for the slow one. Could really use a stronger upper body, so I'm going to watch The Godfather and knock out some pushups and situps. But check out a few photos below.

This guy and his dog were a little alarmed by me driving with one hand and shooting with the other. They were probably also alarmed by the novice artsy-fartsiness of this shot. I know you are.

A nastier-than-it-looks hill, just at the two-thirds of a mile mark. This is where I really feel the loss of tread in the kicks.

One of many side trails; you can see the loop coming back around behind it. The loop's one way: runners and bikers to the left of the yellow, cars and stupid mopeds to the right.

One of the golf course's tees is up the grassy hill behind that guy.

Manicured lawns, meet the nail-biter

Kentucky Country Day School has an "Admissions Cabin". I guess they trick kids into thinking they're enrolling in summer camp, rather than a decade-plus of private school.

My interview to be a sub was 15 minutes long, as advertised. As long as my background check doesn't reveal anything about the noodle incident, I'm on the list. And the list is apparently short, so I am likely to get some 6 a.m. calls. The last time someone called me at 6 a.m., Duc was drunk.

I was advised of the dress code: "You don't need to wear a tie, but no sandals or Budweiser T-shirts." Well, thanks. Clogs and Beast Ice hoodie it is.

Off to do a few miles in the park. Taking the camera.

Ice queen

I'm unreasonably upset by the unfriendly people I meet in Kentucky. I suppose I had a pie-eyed prejudice that all Southerners were friendly. Whether or not Louisville is actually Southern is debatable, but the fact that my cashier at Kroger today sucked is not.

I have no good details. She was just mean. AND, I was bagging my own groceries! So I thought that'd be worth brownie points even with an ice queen like herself. But no. Hmph.

This day's blog is unlyrical because I am watching and being unnerved by the Eagles-Atlanta game. Stupid Jeremiah Trotter gets ejected. Phenomenal.

Fifth Third Bank

What?

"Oh MAN! It was HOT in there!"

I swear, the Will Ferrell-themed titles are so close to over.

It has seemed sunny and mild, beautiful, the past couple of days in Louisville. But once you start running, it gets brutal in a hurry. And it doesn't help that I'm a little out of shape. Nonetheless, I took advantage of the mediocrity of the early NFL games and took off for an hour in Cherokee. Squeezed out a couple of deuces. The first one went 6:15 & 6:35 = 12:50, and the second one, taken easy intentionally, was 8:06 & 7:59 = 16:05.

I need some new shoes, and I really want new Shox, the pair I have now. However, they're a little pricey and I'm not feeling too spendy. Howeverever, it seems that all running shoes are pricey now, so is there even a sane alternative? I don't want to pay $50 instead of $130 and be uncomfortable running, because the whole point of me running is to be healthy and comfortable. (And apparently the whole point of me writing is to spell everything out in excruciating redundancy.)

Pictures of the park, etc., coming soon.

"That's why I come up here ... NATURE!"

"Staring contest, me and you, right now!

... You win! You always do!"

Cherokee Park

Challah! I have found an idyllic place to run.

The Scenic Loop of Cherokee Park is a lot of hills, turns, and -- surprise! -- scenery. Woods, creeks, fields for frolicking and Frisbee ... I approve. The loop is 2.4 miles (frick, not a round number) and I have marked off 1 mile, 2 miles, and 3.1 miles (5K) from the most popular parking area. And even today, when I was detoured in the Highlands because of a festival on the streets, it took only 10 minutes to drive to the park.

Even though I swore I would only drive when absolutely necessary, it's not practical to run in my downtown neighborhood, what with all the lights and White Castles to hold you up.

ALSO: The Bluegrass Brewing Company, a two-minute (max) stagger from my building, features an 8.6% ABV beer called the Copulator.

Cooking and the quest for a drawl

I'm bad at cooking. I can read recipes off boxes and wield a spatula, but I forget things. I'll turn off the oven instead of the timer, cover boiling things that are supposed to breathe, and just generally do things out of order. I probably wash my hands too often, but chicken is slimy.

Working at a newspaper at night, I never got into cooking. I microwaved everything, even Coke and Twizzlers. So I have some ground to make up.

My southern verbal tendencies aren't taking root yet. Maybe I should talk with other people. Maybe I should leave the apartment occasionally. Er, more occasionally. Hey, I found another bedsore! This one's shaped like Pennsylvania. Aww.

Maybe I could use some tips on this photography thing.

Not feeling poetic today. It's NFL opening night.

Mini-interview

I have an interview at Kentucky Country Day School next Tuesday, to be a substitute teacher. It's supposed to last 15 minutes.

Can you even tell in 15 minutes whether or not someone is a sociopath? What in the world is the point of a 15-minute interview? Maybe that fast-talking Micro-Machines guy is interviewing me. Remember Micro-Machines? Yeah.

Yee-haw, love that helpless feeling.

Another loss for the Phillies. I can't watch them, can't hear them on the radio. Not in the usual way, where I can't because it's too painful. I can't because I can't. I have to watch talk shows with SEC football coaches drawling about how doggone hard their fellas work.

And now that I've moved, they're blowing it, and I'm pissed. How can I send good vibes through the internet?

Move it along, nothing to see here

Today is a low-key day, even by my standards. Walked to the post office to mail a few things, bought sunglasses (unfortunately sporting Olympic rings and a hot little "USA" on one stem) and am spending the rest of the day on my resume and job-application-related things.

This post goes out to my nervously supportive parents. Love you guys!

The ex-black eye

It's even yellower than this now.

So much for blending

Well, today it happened. On my fifth day of downtown life, I was typing away something to my grandmother when some enormous motorcycle -- positively the Hummer of straddle-seat transportation -- revs its engine for a solid two minutes in a parking space. Not a red light. A parking space. And this engine was not not turning over. So for a fleeting moment, I pressed my face against the screen window and yelled. One word. Two syllables. Has the word "ouch" in the middle. Then I returned to instant messaging Nana.

Cumpleanos feliz a mi hermana

My little sister is 24 today. Our gift exchanging (my bday is 2 months after hers) has become cheerfully scattershot since we became adults. If I get ahold of her today, I'm just asking for a serial number and an Amazon.com address. Not as much mystery as the old days, I guess, but because she's planning her wedding she'll have to get used to telling people what she wants them to get her.

Would it be tacky to set up a gift registry for one's own birthday? I have less than two months to decide.

Idiot report

I have a black eye. I was juggling clubs in the study, and I put too much backflip on the green one and the skinny end poked me right under the right eye.

Bullet points of stupidity:
1) I hadn't juggled clubs in at least 3 years.
2) I was juggling clubs in an unenormous room.
3) I was juggling clubs near breakable objects.
4) I was drinking a beer.
5) I'm telling people about it.
6) I used the phrase "bullet points" and numbered these items instead.

To do: Run, run

In search of a good place to log some miles -- bluegrass, greengrass, chronic, whatthehellever -- I visited two parks today: Shawnee Park, a few miles to my west, and Iroquois Park, a few miles south.

Shawnee features a lot of grass and a few trees, accessible to drivers by a one-way loop throughout. It seemed decent enough to run in, but unkempt and not particularly scenic. Plus, there are a lot of lights to drive through on my way there. (I just have to put up with the fact that I have to drive somewhere to run, unless I want to run downtown and stop at every other light.)

Iroquois has a golf course (which would be great if I had a job) and one path sends you uphill all the way. It feels a little more secluded and definitely is more scenic.

I still haven't run in Cherokee Park, to the east, but I should get there tomorrow or Wednesday. It looks like the closest of the three.

Cards, Cats and giving a crap

Highway drivers entering downtown Louisville are confronted with a sign proclaiming that "the 'Ville" is "the best college sports town in America." With no major league sports teams in that town, that claim is rather like ... frankly, like a metaphor I've spent 45 minutes searching for.

The U of L-UK football game is on, and since it's the big rivalry in the state, I'm jealous of those to whom it matters. I look forward to caring one way or the other.

Puny Is Blogger

Fun Is Bowling. That's the sign outside the bowling alley I bowled at Friday night. Part Yoda, part delusion, that slogan is.

I bowled two games in a group of 14 people on two adjacent lanes. Most were med students, and at least one remarked, "Where are the ... you know ... " in reference to the absence of gutter bumpers. So no one was exactly anything to blog home about, BUT, I started with two strikes. Yep.

The idiot thing that you do after you start a game with two strikes, especially if you are as sporadic a novice bowler as myself: you dream -- "What dance should I do after I break 200?" Of course, my aim faltered and my arm got tired and my beer got warm, so dreams were dying left and right.

As for the Luhvul bowling alley crowd, it was pretty run-of-the-mill, though a guy did forget to release his ball and went sliding into the lane on his roomy jeans shorts. Yee-haw.

Squealing hogs. Reee, reee, reee!

Are motorcycles horribly loud, or am I a suburbs-softened whiner? No more rarely than once every 20 minutes, motorcycle(s) sprint past my 4th-floor windows. They're loud, although it's pretty cool that they drown out the protesters on the corner, whose cause I haven't taken the time to discover.

Saddle up

I've always been an East Coast kid. The drippy chewiness of a cheesesteak, the familiar bite of the night's first Yuengling, and the eardrum blitzkrieg of a Jersey accent own tiny pieces of my heart. Plus, I hate the sports teams I root for, and I look sickly in the winter. And I'd sooner feed my giblets to a tiger shark than drink a teaspoon of the mid-Atlantic he swims in.

But now I'm in Horseopolis. The Belly of the Bourbon Beast. More Manure, You're Sure? Or, if you're a nerdy literalist: Louisville, KY 40202.

I've moved to Seabiscuit Central for two reasons.

First, Girlfriend. She's a medical student now, and I don't get to hear nearly enough -- NEARLY ENOUGH -- cadaver stories at home in Philly.

Second, I wanted a career change. Working nights and weekends as a newspaper editor became odious and unfulfilling, regardless of the quality of pay or the reward of helping direct a news agenda. I'd rather write, report, teach, coach track or cross-country, or wipe boogers off walls in a daycare center, so that is what I intend to do. Right now I have no health insurance (COBRA plan from former employer was exorbitant), so if you think the blog sucks and you want to hit me in the head with something heavy, I'd be thrilled if you waited until after I get a new job.

So here I am. Girlfriend and I have an apartment downtown, I have an uncurable itch to run a lap at Churchill Downs -- maybe do some butt slides on the rail? -- and I have a brand new start in a brand new place. It's alarming and exciting, and I'm going to write about it for my benefit and yours, in case you wonder what I'm up to and/or you're moving somewhere soon.

What else can I say? Stay tuned, and I'll tell you about some trivial experiences that will knock your freakin' socks off. Y'all.