Blogging with pictures (and poems)

 I mentioned that I started rowing a bit last week. It is pretty fun, leaves me sweaty, but not exhausted, and works almost all of the major muscle groups. A pretty good recipe for a workout that doesn't seem to interfere with also wanting to be able to give 100% at handball either that same day or the next day. I have decided to document my progress somewhat, since I always do better when I have something to focus on improving. Here is what I did the first time:

I rowed for 30 minutes total. The first ten minutes I went pretty hard, keeping the pace under 2:10. The middle ten minutes I just maintained a comfortable rhythm, trying to get the hang of the motion and make sure I wasn't overdoing it on my first time, and the last ten minutes I ramped it up again. I like working out in stages like that. I don't get bored, and when I can focus on something new, I have a lot easier time regulating my performance. Today I went back to the gym and hopped on the machine. I rowed ten minutes at a time again, but instead of a middle section of going easy, I jumped rope in between for five minutes. My shoulders felt like they were going to fall off, which made getting a run of more than fifty hops in a row rather difficult (which made me rather frustrated), but I felt like the variation was good, again. Here's a picture of my second set statistics. I averaged a 2:00 500-meter pace for both of my ten-minute sections, which I think is okay. I sprinted the last bit to see what I had left, which wasn't much. These concept 2's are much harder than the water-resistance machines elsewhere in the building!

I jumped rope again after, again with difficulty. Then I grabbed a handball, and completely mis-hit it on the first couple attempts. After that, though, I felt really good! The ball was going where I aimed, and my hands felt closer in power than usual. So maybe this working out thing will help after all... Who knew? I grabbed the jumprope again after hitting for a while and managed a couple hundred hops in a row, so I was even feeling better about that. I threw in fifty cross-overs to finish off the streak, and then did 25 doubles (I don't know what to actually call these things, since I don't actually jump rope, but hopefully they are self-explanatory) before I hit my shin and called it quits. I finished things up with ten minutes on a precor machine, which is cool because you get to choose your range of motion. So I got to mimic running stairs for a minute, short strides for a minute, and bounds for a minute, and repeat that for the ten minutes. I really like variety.

On my way home, I bought some green tea from Aldi. I got both flavors they had, one plain, the other with lemon and ginseng. I made the plain one first, since if I hated it, I wanted to have something to look forward to. It wasn't delicious, but knowing it's good for me goes a long way in making it tolerable. The caffeine content wasn't listed, though, so I'm not sure how much to drink at night before trying to sleep. This is unfortunate, since I was sort of planning on drinking tea whenever I felt hungry, but now it seems that may result in me being awake all night. I made some of the ginseng too, which I'm putting in the refrigerator to take to school with me tomorrow. Having tried a sip, I can't say I'm very impressed by the claim of lemon or ginseng. Apparently Aldi has a decent reputation for tea, though, as it won some weird contest in europe involving tea. Granted, I have no idea how that compares to anything on this side of "the pond," but I'm going to claim it's good anyway: 

When I have three minutes before class starts, I hit the random button on my XKCD app. Occasionally I screenshot the ones I like. Here are some more pictures about big questions!

Between XKCD and SMBC, I am constantly reminded this problem is something tons of people (especially ones prone to thinking a lot) struggle with all the time. The difference, of course, is that they choose to joke about it, while I am not usually so inclined.

Sarah was wondering about her parenting ability the other night, so I figured I'd include this one:

When I was struggling with my computer the other day and resetting accounts and stuff, I took this picture. It looks entirely normal until...

It says to make a password reset floppy disc! What?! There isn't a floppy drive anywhere on my machine, nobody uses them these days, and this is a copy of Windows 7! It's not like this is from 1994 or something! (Also, you can see my long-lost handball video in the background on my desktop. Alas, poor folders, I knew ye well.)

 I found this to be a particularly funny take on the classic parenting hypothetical. It makes so much sense! Especially since I tend to make pretty smart friends who are usually at least somewhat concerned with self-preservation. Not that I am the sort of person to blindly follow them off a bridge, but hey, if Chuck and David told me it was the correct option, there's a pretty good chance I'd wind up airborne (after examining their logic, of course).

To conclude the phone pictures for the day:

No explanation required.

I had a hundred people read my blog yesterday! I'm assuming some random ad sent them there or something, since I can see the traffic source information and it sure wasn't from people searching for it on google, but I'm still happy!

Now that I have a computer at home, I no longer have a reason not to upload some of the things I've been writing down at random intervals. So here's a poem:

Peanut Butter

I accidentally refrigerated my peanut butter.
It got caught up with the condiments,
reduced to a mere topping, a garnish pushed
back into the cold with the pickles and olives.
It wasn't right
for such an integral part of my diet
to be tossed in with mere frivolities.

My ex loved peanut butter,
so now I pause sometimes,
mid-spoonful, as the tongue-arresting
thickness makes hesitation easy,
and wonder whether I actually like it
or whether I just like liking it,
like the girls I meet in her wake
who smile, and I wonder, if I wink
would they wink back?

And would I even want them to,
since I know them even less about them
than I know peanut butter,
and I don't even know peanut butter well,
since my feelings there, too, remain unresolved:
Do I like it,
or just like that it takes my mind
to a better time,
when I leveled out her gouging spoonfuls
with my odd obsessive need
for uniformity?

I knew peanut butter was always there for me
when I needed a simply way
to make her smile.
Sad? Here, I put peanut butter on
a thing
because I don't know how to show
that it kills me not to know
a better way to cheer you up.

The concoctions became more elaborate.
Peanut-butter-topped
anythings
became peanut-butter-chocolate-banana
everythings,
which eventually gave way themselves
to peanut butter chocolate wafers,
(separated meticulously) sandwiching swirled
dark-chocolate-peanut-butter-infused scoops
of multiple flavors of ice cream,
all splitting a banana.

All met with disdain,
so now I eat it plain.
The low-sodium Skippy
tastes shitty.
So I think I like peanut butter for peanut butter
the way I liked her for her.
By that I mean, I know it's good,
but even then it grew on me more
addictive,
until I was spooning it absent-mindedly
into my mouth at 1:35am,
listening to classical music
and not even tasting it.

Like I said, I'm not very impressed with my poetry these days. I don't mind the ideas/analogies or whatever, but it doesn't strike me as good writing. I'm obviously too close to it all still to really maintain good perspective on which details are objectively good and which are just meaningful to me. I read some poetry recently to try and remember what it felt like to be writing from a more literary place rather than pure emotion. This is what resulted:

Trip to the Grand Canyon

If the wind had blown you into the Grand Canyon
I might have spent the rest of my life crying
as I watched you fall.
But at least I'd know how I felt,
have justification for these sudden urges
to abandon bouts of happiness
mid-laugh.

Or maybe I'd have spent the rest of my life watching you fall
literally,
as I cast myself after you
grabbing for either your hand, outstretched
(back when you still wanted me to catch you)
or, failing that, your hair, furling
in unappreciated beauty,
reduced to a handhold.

I once joked I'd hammer-throw you
Trunchbull-style, by your braid,
but as we are now,
both falling,
there is no method to propel you,
though I might manage to get beneath
and brace for impact.

And see? That didn't really help at all! So I don't really know what to say. It's probably one of those "time heals all wounds" sorts of deals. Time heals all over-emotional poetry? That could probably catch on. Let's start it circulating.

So in an effort to get my emotions out, I just let loose:

Weird

It feels weird that I'm angrier now
about her cheating then,
when all that's changed
is how long it's been
since I reminded myself
by looking at her
grinning, lit-up face,
or her sleeping form content
and gradually splaying outward,
her once-cold limbs expanding
until, upon contact,
the reflex-cuddle
makes up for everything,
her sleepy grin enough
for forgiveness.


Wasabi

I wondered today whether I liked the taste more
or the burn, since the taste is inseparable from the pain
and at some point Pavlovian responses point
to partnerships so bound and wound up in one another
that the pair of sensations start to substitute
and skip out, leaving me loving pain
and you long gone.


Imprudent purchase

Is there anything more egotistical
than a feet-sweeping gesture?
How many women, carried away
from their factory job by Richard Gere
to the applause of their coworkers,
realize months, or years,
later, that the glory wears off
but the reasons for rejection remain?

And how many wannabe Richards are there
trying to suspend rationality
the necessary moment to board a plane
risking the five-hour empty flight home
to hold a boombox blaring overhead
or spontaneously spout the perfect proposal
to a girl subtly different from the one they flew to meet?


And don't worry; there are more. There are some about other subjects, too, of course (from sandwich artists, to high-release backhands) but those don't do nearly as good a job of highlighting what I wish I could get rid Harry-Potter-Pensieve style, putting it on the page in lieu of being distracted at random times. The last one is particularly funny to me, since it started as a poem called "almost a romantic" and by the time I was done editing was just cynical. Typical me, right? The original was about how I constantly entertain thoughts (sometimes even seriously) about things I wish I could bring myself to do. Things like not take no for an answer, board a plane, and see her face to face. Or board a different plane and see Sarah S on a whim. Or tell a random girl I think she's pretty (I almost did this today, actually. It was weird.) But I can't crest the hump. Here's how the poem originally started:

I'm almost a romantic
but that's a binary proposition
you either are or aren't
no hand grenades here
(close doesn't count).
So my temptation
to put my heart en route
even as it approaches one
stalls out without the needed clout.

Actions are binary, despite how close we feel to taking them. Which I suppose is benefiting me the times I'm entertaining things I know are stupid, but I've never done foolhardy romantic things, really, so I don't actually know if they're stupid or not. I just assume they are, as shown by how the poem wound up. And finding out for sure that it doesn't work would be sad, too, of course. As long as I don't actually do anything, I can still entertain the fantasy, teasing myself with how close I come to finding out.

I guess there was one poem I entertained the thought of polishing, but I really don't like when author's acknowledge their medium in general, so I sort of abandoned it before I finished.


Spoken poetry

My poetry isn't spoken word.
Read aloud it's absurd, it's rushed
its rhythm drops
and details go unheard.

So if I speak it, I go slow
savor the syllables, and sibilance, and flow
as I go
from one rhyme, paused precarious
to that infernal one,
internal and nefarious
which if rapidly regurgitated
might never register
unacknowledged and frustrated.

That's all the typing I have time for tonight, unfortunately. I guess the caffeine must be doing something, though, since I'm not really tired. Which is good, since I should definitely get around to doing my homework and studying for my quiz on Wednesday! Thanks for reading!