Turns out this was in the wrong blog! Whoops!

Moving boxes

They must weigh as much as I do

those boxes of photographs

glistening out with colors

so much less vibrant than memory

but better than forgetting.

Washed out smiles and poses

more awkward in retrospect,

not at all jaunty or casual,

but proof nonetheless

of proud presence

at pristine points of interest.

Boxes and albums are bulky,

seldom opened, flipped through

only during a rare relocation

to a less obtrusive locale,

gradually stowed in less

accessible places

until they are only uncovered

in an all-out unearthing.

Disposable cameras

wound up and carried everywhere

clicks converted into

disposable memories

with no convenient hours to waste

in recollection.

Poem:

I was moving some stuff around in the basement trying to get my computer set up and came across hundreds of photographs. They were surprisingly heavy. What struck me immediately was how awkward all the smiles and postures were. The scenes were all nice in that they provoked the memories of the places, but disappointing in how little of the color and ambiance actually wound up on paper. What the photos mostly succeeded in doing was making me want to go back to those places. And I was surprised how easy it is to get caught up in looking at the past, even if the color vibrancy isn't up to snuff.

Observation:

Sunday at my bike race we were parked next to a Toyota Corolla. But this wasn't just any Toyota Corolla. This was the Toyota Corolla S. You know, the sports edition. It's a Corolla, for Pete's sake! The engine is a 1.8 liter, four-cylinder piece of mediocrity that generates a whopping 132 horsepower. This is good enough for a 0-60 time of over nine seconds. I have no idea what would prompt someone to purchase this car. It even had a spoiler on the back. Because when you're topping out at its electronically limited 110 mph, you really need that extra downforce on the back wheels to improve handling. Nothing about this car is sporty, and with the sports package, it just looks ridiculous. It loses the only good quality it has going for it (modest reliability) and only serves to show off the poor decision-making of the owner. The fact that it was at a bike race was peculiar, since the person probably used their really slow “sports” car to transport an actually fast bike.

Exercise:

“Put an athlete, artist, and a fitness instructor in a museum. Add in a broken window and a crooked painting. One of the three panics. Write out the scene.”

Bob rarely frequented museums. They just weren't his thing, but when an exhibit about the human body went on display at the local museum of science, he figured he could at least check it out. Unfortunately, that particular exhibit only took about thirty minutes to comprehend fully. As it turns out, once you've seen one or two skinless bodies, you've pretty much seen them all. So here he was looking at some sort of odd coloring on a canvas, and the perplexity it was inducing was disconcerting. The painting wasn't even hung on the wall properly, hanging significantly askew, but only slightly, as though hung poorly. Bob, being the concerned man that he was, casually reached out and made the slight adjustment to bring it to a level plane. This naturally set off the alarms, and within a few seconds Bob found himself underneath a rather large man in sweats. Being tackled by a football player hurt a lot more than he thought it would. He looked up as the stars cleared and the alarm abated to see a crowd of people gathering above him. Even the artist doing an imitation work of a painting in the next room was peeking around the corner. The black guy glared at him as he got up, saying he had just sprung into action in case Bob was trying to do something more serious. Bob got up and brushed himself off, apologizing profusely. He bade a hasty retreat, only to see the aforementioned artist smiling at him. "I like it better that way anyway." Bob grinned and kept walking, trying to appear casual. Unfortunately, in the process, he walked into a glass door, the kind with handles attached somewhat mysteriously to the door. It shattered, and he did the only thing he could think of: he ran.

Me:

I was at a little race yesterday, but before the event got going, I was in need of a bathroom stop. Much to my disappointment, the closest accommodation came without a door to the stall. The stall divider thing wasn't even long enough to cover my whole body. So I was sitting there with my head poking around the corner and hoping nobody else decided they needed to use that particular bathroom at that particular time. Luckily, the whole thing became less of a problem due to the fact I had diarrhea at the time. So I was done practically within seconds and back on my way to the bike race, which went unremarkably. Naturally, I shall remark on it anyway: I got dropped in the first race, being unprepared for the pace and proximity of racing against good cyclists. The next race was a points race, and I did what I always do, attacking after an intermediate sprint and going solo for a couple of laps. Apparently I even got some points, though I had no idea at the time due to poor announcement on the part of the race organizers. And speaking of the race organizers, the announcer was incredibly disappointing. The highlight was probably when he said the three women in my mom's race that finished in front of her won because they had the most experience. Apparently having just come out of the juniors categories or racing a couple of years counts more than five US records. The announcer alternated between incorrect things and inanely obvious ones. Which, in turn, alternated between humorous and irritating, though the two didn't necessarily line up with the incorrect or obvious. Some obvious things were humorous (it's usually one decisive move that decides the race), while others were not. But the inanity was generally irritating. The prime example was attention being drawn to the way a number was pinned to a girl's jersey. For multiple laps. It was unbearable enough to make me uneager to return.

The last race was structured so that the last two riders of every lap were pulled until they got to five. I stayed in until there were nine of us before suddenly realizing I was quite tired. So I got today off (though the rain would have assured that anyway), and hopefully all of the training I did this week will pay off next weekend, the biggest weekend of racing for the year.

Motorpacing ants in 3D

I've decided my post titles will be much more entertaining if I just combine what I'm talking about into a crazy amalgam of an idea. More entertaining for me, perhaps more intriguing for you?

Motorpacing

I don't know whether physics is confusing
Or just preposterous
As drops of sweat fall horizontal
And bend upward again
Only to stop suddenly
Waiting for my face
To catch up instantly
And stinging my eyes
As they end their journey
Just two inches from the 
Brow where they originated
Dribbling down my chin
Coating my lips
With caked-on whiteness
As I suffer behind the car
At thirty-five miles per hour

The brief vacuum behind
The red bumper
snatches salty drops
And sucks them in
toward the open hatch
The trunk ajar
And the interior hovering
Inches in front
An odd constant scenery
As the pavement cracks
whip past underneath
And bumps in the road
prove the only reminders
That we're making rapid progress
Since the cupholder between the chairs
Remains perfectly still

Poem:
I went motorpacing and couldn't for the life of my figure out how I was getting drops of water splashed on my constantly. Then I saw a drop of sweat leap off my cheek, fly forward faster than I was, loop around, and hit me in the shoulder. I was fascinated. There didn't seem to be any way to predict how they would behave. Some would drop down to the ground, some would shoot off to the side, and some changed directions twice before I lost sight of them. I don't think I've done too great a job getting the description right, but the experience is so brief I have trouble slowing it down in my mind to do it justice.

Observation:
There have been a lot of technology things happening recently, so I thought I'd talk about some of the cool things I've been hearing about. The first is that the three-dimensional television screens are cool for a way different reason than I was thinking about. Because the 3D technology works by sending slightly different images to each eye (forcing them to combine the two into a perspective with depth) it's possible to get two people to see different images on the same screen. The way this is accomplished is by giving one person the equivalent of two "right-eyed" lenses from a pair of glasses, and the other person two for the "left eye." because they block out the image the other person sees, they will wind up with a two-dimensional image of completely different pictures. So one person can be watching something else happen. This is mostly interesting for video games, where shared sounds make a bit more sense, but if you had headphones, you could each watch completely different things. Of course, at that point there's no good reason not to get two televisions. The technology is pretty awesome though.
Another cool little thing is the case I just got for my phone. It has a battery built in, and I let my phone run out of battery and it's been charging off the case for the past four hours, bringing it all the way back up to full charge. I'm thoroughly impressed. It's a bit bulkier than other cases, but doubling my battery life is worth it for sure, especially since I'm going on a vacation soon-ish.

Exercise:
Use all these words in a story: priest, ring, garden, magnifying glass

As the priest pronounced them man and wife, all the ring bearer could see were the ants. The beaming smiles and all-too-modest kiss drew applause from the grown ups, which released his hand briefly. That was all he needed. Sam ducked into unobtrusiveness and hunched his way over to the trail of little figures. They were single file but for one rogue, which branched off from the scent trail. Sam followed the line backwards until it departed from the main walk, diverted onto a side path of loosely set brick. There, in the middle of the garden, he sat surrounded by all the classic wedding flowers. Lilies, daisies, and tulips all lined the bricks, some potted for easy setting manipulation, ready to be shuttled to the reception area or the church entrance should the need arise.
Sam reached into his pockets one by one, starting with his pants. By the time he checked his little tux coat, his search had become a bit frantic, and he patted himself all over before reaching in to the inside breast pocket and removing a little multi-tool, the kind given to kids at science centers to inspire enthusiasm with education. He flipped open it's cheap plastic magnifying glass, found a patch of sun, and with the ease brought on by long practice, directed a concentrated beam of light at the shell of one unfortunate drone. It sizzled briefly, threw off a spark, and the ants behind just continued by unfazed. Even at that age, that was what Sam found remarkable. He had just watched two people vow to care for one another as long as they both should live, and yet here, only fifteen yards away, the ants marched by affected. Sam knew people were like ants in some places. He had been to the city, seen the homeless being ignored, seen the suits stroll past in line. But he had also had an ant farm, and knew that while some people were like ants, there were no ants like people. There were no secluded church gardens, no wedding vows, no pauses in the march. He considered this as he absentmindedly torched another ant, it's thorax bursting in a miniature testament to apathy.

Me:
I didn't bike yesterday due to the weather, and the day off apparently made me quite ready to ride today. My dad said it was the fastest ride he's been on in a long time, and we averaged 22.1 mph for the whole thing, including the in-town stuff. Which means out on-road average was somewhere around 25? I guess. That's pretty good for me. I just hope my legs feel good for my race tomorrow. It's a perfectly flat course, so I'm not thrilled, but I did well there two years ago, so we'll see.
In a good news/break from complaining section, my fingers have finally stopped hurting. It's taken like three months, but the two I dislocated playing handball are now almost entirely pain free. They don't have quite a normal range of flexibiliy yet, but I noticed the last two or three times I've been on a handball court that they're not affecting my shots any more. Nw if I could get my feet moving how I want, I'd be back up to snuff. A combination of tired legs and overconfidence has resulted in me focusing less on the mechanics I know I could be improving. But my left hand has kept improving, so at least some progress continues to be made.

Just some stuff

spilt milk

I was always sure
Hers would be the next call
Delayed with some excuse
Errands, car trouble,
Dead phone

I was always hers
Until that last call
The one that meant no more
Calls were coming,
The one that ripped
The bowl of cereal
From my hands
And slammed it
On the laminated floor
Cornflakes floating
Like life rafts
On the spreading sea of milk
Blueberry islands
And porcelain-piece
Prominences projecting
Into the whiteness
As it made its way
Under the refrigerator

And I sank down and sat
Right in it
My slippered feet sliding
A bit as I splotched down
The wave of milk rolled
Blueberry islands in arcs
As the drips landed
Clear salt water
Homogenizing quickly
As it rippled into spilt milk.

Poem:
I decided to try mentally putting myself in other situations in an effort to think about how I would react to various things. I seem to be lacking most of the traumatic experiences that form staples in the lives of many writers, so this was my attempt at imagination. I was watching tv and saw a girl whose fiancé was killed in a car crash, and I wondered what I would do with a phone call of that magnitude. I thought of not hearing from someone you were expecting to, only to receive that sort of news. And this is what I came up with as an in-the-moment sort of scene. I'm still completely unsure how I would actually react. I think it would take quite a bit longer for it to actually sink in, though. But this just seemed fitting.

Observation:
You know how movies are always predictable? The good guys win, happily ever after, that sort of stuff? Well I watched "The English Patient" and "Biutiful" on consecutive nights, and that was about enough to dispel that notion for a while. Oh boy were those movies depressing. At least the former had a plot and a story to it, though. Biutiful was just an exercise in futility. Watching some guy try to do what he can with what he has, only to have it all fall apart as he is ripped to pieces by cancer was not what I was hoping for when I sat down to watch. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was a foreign film, but I just wasn't ready for any of it. Of course, the fact that it was all subtitled made it a bit easier to ignore the emotions that were going on, so at least it didn't hit me with quite the force of a movie in English.
I don't usually get sucked in to movies. I guess I have a hard time imagining what the characters might be thinking or experiencing, or maybe it's just too easy to remember it's all just a movie, but for some reason that didn't happen with "The English Patient." I don't think the acting was all that incredible, really, but for some reason, I just couldn't prevent myself from feeling a crazy amount of emotion during that movie. I guess it's designed to do that, but hey, it succeeded. I'm sure glad the whole tragedy as a popular Hollywood genre hasn't gained more momentum. Especially because it's not always easy to tell that a movie is going to be sad. Based on the descriptions I received for these movies, I had an idea they weren't cheerful, but nothing prepared me for the all-out depression they conveyed. So if more movies hit theaters with trailers that left the whole tragedy thing ambiguous, I'm sure I would wind up mistakenly going to one when I wasn't prepared for it, and who knows what that might lead to. Ice cream could vanish from the Ames area, a chocolate shortage could strike, and my snores from excessive nap times could prove most annoying.

Exercise:
Let me preface this prompt by saying I have no idea what I was thinking when I chose it other than, "that's odd."

In 250 words, write from the point of view of a strand of hair

Today was not a good hair day. Oh sure, the guy with the scissors didn't seem to mind the outcome, but as far as Claudio was concerned, today was a disaster. Not only had he been forced to watch as some of his closest friends we hacked to bits, but, even having avoided the scissors (at least for now, though the first post-haircut shower might reveal his rebellion), there was nothing he could do about the gel. It wasn't so bad at first. Certainly it was no worse than the normal pain of being forcibly separated from his family and friends by a long-toothed comb. But then it started to set in. The wind rushing past ceased to have any effect, and Claudio, suddenly deprived of his swaying, felt the true meaning of loneliness. His friends were beneath him, almost too short to notice, and rather than leaving him free to feel the full measure of the glorious wind, the guy had deprived him of movement, locking him in a layer of clear solidity to watch as his compatriots floundered below. Obviously there was nothing he could do. Any sort of rebellion took thousands of allies, and usually an entire night of planning. Oh sure, there was the sudden uprising they had pulled off with only an hour's prep time, but that had been aided by a shower and an untimely nap. Claudio was helpless.

Me:
As is probably evident, I made time to blog today. I also had a great conversation with my mom at work about quite a variety of things. As a result, I think I have come to the conclusion that it's worth pursuing writing a bit further. It occurred to me that between the two blogs I've written, I have enough words to have turned out a book. And while I've been rejected from all the writing schools I've applied to, I think it's still worth a shot. And I think having this time away from writing has been a good thing. I've started thinking "creatively" again recently, and while college classes were really interesting and a great way to force myself to write, the break I have had has been welcome too. So I'll start carrying around my notebook again, and we'll see what comes of it. The exercise section of my blog might be commandeered for brief sections of pieces, but in all likelihood, I'll wait until something is completed before letting anyone know. The only impact this might have as far as this blog is concerned is that I might update a bit less frequently, or if not, I might just include whatever I've written that day, which would depart from the whole four-section thing I have going.

Tired

Me:
Golly gee willikers. I've been doing a rather poor job of getting this updated. I was sure my schedule was going to be stabilizing, and then I had to go to work on a consistent basis. Who'd have thought a job would require time? And it wouldn't be so bad, but I biked in the morning the past two days, and then went off to other activities in the afternoon. Monday was lawn mowing and frisbee day, which lasted long enough to exhaust me to the point where all I could really bring myself to do was watch a movie, and today I biked for a second time in the afternoon, and then was off to handball until 10:00. So now it's late, I'm really tired, but do want to update. I plan on getting to it tomorrow, but I'm working again, and have a long bike ride in the evening, so I can't quite promise it will occur.