Hobby Horse Syndrome

The front page story in the St. Pioneer Press was pretty eye opening. Subprime borrowers are not the only ones to suffer from the possible looming recession. It turns out a bunch of horses who have no voice or choice in the matter are suffering even more. To the point that many are starving to death.

Click here to read more.

Click here to help.

Keeping San Antonio Lame, One Blogger At A Time

Most of us are aware of the Keep Austin Weird bumper stickers and t-shirts (dare I say movement?) that have been around for awhile. Fewer people are aware of the Keep San Antonio Lame bumper sticker/movement scene.

A friend of mine from high school, Jones, is doing his part to keep San Antonio lame. And I mean that as a good thing. San Antonio has a lot to offer, if you know where and how and where to look. And you need to know a diamond in the rough when you see one.

The lameness to celebrate stems from the fact that it is a quiet, slow, humble lamness. Compare that to the arrogance and glitz of Dallas. I'll take San Antonio any day over that.

So Jones writes for The San Antonio Current which is that city's equivalent of The City Pages. He rides his bike around the city, takes lots of pictures on these rides, and goes to music and art shows. What he does is uncover all those diamonds in the rough that keep San Antonio so beautifully lame.

Maybe I find the lameness so wonderful because as much as the city is getting bulldozed and developed, there are still pockets of it here and there, that will never change. They will stay frozen as I remember them being from 1976 to 1990.

Click here for his latest entry. Even all you non-San Antonionians should check it out. He has a pretty interesting take on MLK Day.

Another reason to check out his post: he got a pretty cool picture of The Pancho Villa Lounge. If you scroll to the pictures at the bottom of the blog, it is the third from the last picture. I swear I've driven by that building about a hundred times on my way out to my sister's place in St. Hedwig. If that is indeed the building (it has to be), I will say this: no other building has ever held such intrigue to me the way that one has. What the hell was that place like before it closed?

A smaller, rural version of (a great San Antonio bar) La Tuna?



I guess my challenge to Jones is to find another Pancho Villa place that is still open. If there is one left in this country, I know good and damn well it's somewhere on the outskirts of San Antonio.

The Zen of Regression

Like oops. The Frozen Half Marathon didn't go nearly as well I had hoped. Last year I ran a 1:20:30 good for 10th place.

This year I came in 20th place and according to what source you use, I ran anywhere between a 1:22:00 and and a 1:23:45. No matter what, much slower than a year ago.

The way I can't figure out my time makes me feel like one of those people born in more agrarian times, who isn't exactly sure what year he was born.

So why the discrepancy? Well,that's all that interesting. But I will say this: I have to rely on three differing sources for my time because I never actually used a watch to time myself. I don't normally wear watches when I run, even when I race. In fact, the only races I do wear watches for are the half-marathon and the full marathon. It is probably no coincidence these are by far my two weakest distances as a runner. Maybe I need the watch as a security blanket in these distances where I'm less confident.

So to break the habit of using a watch, I never used mine for yesterday's half marathon. To borrow a quote from The Spirit of the Marathon movie, I am trying to be a "zen runner," which is a runner who doesn't get caught up in numbers like pace, time, or distance.

Am I a zen runner? I don't know. I do know it doesn't really bother me that I don't know my time. Well, I do know it was slower than last year's. I also know I placed twice as low. It would be very disingenuous of me to suggest that I'm not bothered by either one of these tidbits.

But overall, I feel okay about the race. I could tell by mile five it wasn't going to be my day. And I have a good idea of where I'm at fitness-wise. I don't have any goals for the Boston Marathon other than to have fun. When the summer racing season heats up, then my zen running will fade away and be replaced by a desire for fast times.



And in the meantime, look how cool this year's mug is. It features a ceramic spoon that fits into the handle. This is my third Frozen Half Marathon, and I like the collection of mugs I'm getting from it. I'm sure someone out there has the full collection from every year. But I'm too zen-like to get hung up on material posessions or collections like that. I'm joking of course.

Family Matters

The last time I posted about family matters, I was writing about a kid at work who wanted to show me his Urkle impersenation.

Fortunately, this post will not be Urkel related. Rather it is a post to plug my aunt-in-law's blog. A few things worth knowing about Aunt Deb: she is one of the in-laws I have who will watch sports with me, she is running her first marathon this summer, and she's good people.

Click here to check it out. She was even thoughtful enough to write this post calling me out, for calling her out for the lack of posting on her previous blog.

Busman's Holiday

Holy crap. Kirk already posted how we have less than three months before the Boston Marathon.

I have two days until the Frozen Half Marathon, which for me, is the opener to my racing season.

I am not exactly overly-prepared for both. In my defense, it's been absurdly cold. Like many Minnesotans I have been relegated to the treadmill during this cold snap. Emily joined Lifetime Fitness a few weeks ago, and last I joined her. So I haven't been running outside in over a week.

But tonight I am going to see this movie. So if I can't train for the marathon properly, maybe I can just perfect the art of watching a movie about a marathon.

TV Snacks Has Met Its Match

The friendly blogger over at TV Snacks has put her quarterly post out there, and is now headed back into blog hibernation.

Is the same true The Anginator? Cripes. Watching to see which of these two ladies can blog the fastest is like watching two snails have an underwater swimming race.

Anyway, I finally got around the adding The Anginator to my Blognation links to the right. I recommend adding her to your Google Reader, because you never know just when she will post again. 

Maybe it seems I'm being a little harsh on a new Blognation friend. But I feel I'm allowed to harass her for not posting more frequently. She gets on Emily's and my cases pretty good when we aren't posting with a frequency to her liking. Plus The Anginator is pretty freaking tough. I know she can take it. And she's good people.

So go check out her blog. Maybe it will pressure her to post some more.

Half-Frozen

I woke up this morning, went downstairs and got the paper off the porch, and about froze my extremities off in the three seconds I was out there. It's a balmy six degrees out this morning.

I decided, is any better way to start out a frozen day by signing up for the Frozen Half Marathon? So I did just that.  The close reader will remember I ran and subsequently wrote about this race last year.

My high goal this year is to break 1:20. I'm sure how feasible that is, which makes it a good goal, I guess. I posted my high goal for the Twin Cities Ten Miler this fall, and missed that goal by over two minutes. So I'm hoping it's not bad luck to put the high goal for any race on this blog.

Lazy Mike Goes Viral

Check it out. I'm all over the web.

Click here and here to see the web phenomenom I've become. I never knew hanging out in bars drinking beers (while my friend drinks Diet Pepsi) and eating absurdly unhealthy burgers was going to be my ticket to fame.

Suck it, young Hollywood, and The Other Mike N. (not to be confused with The Other Mike who frequently comments on The Deets). The Other Mike is good people, and, more importantly, not a threat to overtake my title as The Biggest Sensation On The Web For The Next 15 Minutes.

Shuttle Runs

Yesterday I was flipping through the channels, and stumbled across an equestrian event I had never seen before, called cutting. Check out the video. You don't need to read Seabiscuit to realize that horses really are athletes.



I don't know enough about cutting to know if it's more impressive to cut a spry calf, or a lumbering but strong buffalo. But I do know cutting a buffalo looks pretty cool.



It seems to me, though, that a huge piece of this sport is mental. Yes, you have to ride and handle an athletic horse, but you and your horse also need to have the attitude that you can stare down and control the bull. If you get a fearless calf, it may have no problem running right past you, no matter how quick and agile your horse is. For example, Toonces would be harder to cut from a cat herd than Nacho, no matter how athletic Pancho is.

And that's one of the things I saw on TV yesterday. As far as I could tell, half the challenge as a rider is to a) identify the calf you think you can control and b) actually be able to separate that specific calf from the rest of the herd. 

Then somehow you are also judged for style.  I don't know how they do that.

One Big Happy Family

Or judging by the look of resigned tolerance on Pancho's face, perhaps I should change the title to just "One Big Family."



One of Pancho's dog beds (yes he has more beds than we do) is at the top of the stairs by our bedroom. He does little to keep the cats out of his bed, so they have come to think of it has their bed too.

I believe I have previoulsy posted a picture of one cat in the bed with Pancho. But I've never seen both cats with him. In fact, I took this picture this morning because it was the first time I had seen all three of them on the bed together.

Pancho seems to prefer Nacho out of the two cats, just like Emily and I do. Only a true cat lover could fall for Toonces and her freakishly, chronically dialated eyes. She looks like a meth addict, for all I know. I've never seen a meth addict, but I picture them running around all jacked and spazzed out, with hyper-dialated pupils. And this is a perfect description of Toonces.

But Toonces can be calm at times, and Pancho seems to appreciate that as much as Emily and I do.

Four Things Don't Make Sense To me

I'm not implying that these things don't make sense. They just don't make sense to me. Maybe it's because I ain't too bright.

1. Budweiser has launched an ad campaign that gives off the appearance of a brewmaster giving us a lecture on beer in the social room of his microbrewery. He holds up a glass of Budweiser to the light and remarks on its beauty and clarity. He says something to the effect of "See how clear it is? A darker beer can hide impurities. This beer can't."

Maybe there is someone who knows more about beer than I who can set me straight. But this makes no sense to me. First of all, using his logic, Zima is the greatest alchoholic beverage ever.

Secondly, all beer, outside of Guiness, is translucent. Whatever "impurities" he's worried about could be found by holding most any beer up to the light.


Thirdly, and here is where I must plead ignorance, what impurities does he fear? And can they really be detected by holding beer up to light? Are we talking about a mouse in a beer bottle?

2. The crux of Hillary Clinton's campaign is that she is the most experienced candidate among the Democrats. Once you look past Edwards' and Obama' charisma and energy, what you see are two guys way too naive and inexperienced to run a super power.

One problem, though. While she's touting the importance of experience and downplaying eloquence and charm, Bill Clinton is often standing right next to her. Does anybody remember what Bill Clinton's strengths and weaknesses were as a candidate for President in 1992? I think they were eloquence, charm, and inexperience. It seems like a bad idea to have a living, breathing example standing right next to you, inadvertently contradicting your argument that experience matters.

3. Did anyone see Roger Clemens on 60 Minutes last night? One of the things he said was he works out three freaking times a day. So he doesn't need steroids to be in such good shape, even though he is over 40.

One problem: he's over 40. There's only one way I know of that a 40 year old body can withstand three workouts a day without breaking down. Take steroids.

Granted, I'm not a professional athelete, but I have been athletic most of my life. And now at age 36, I fall apart if I workout seven times a week, let alone 21. I think that by saying his body can withstand three workouts a day, he has basically piled more suspicion on himself that his on steroids. Oops.

4. What the hell is Ohio State doing in the national title game?

If I Had A Billion Dollars, I'd Buy Back My (Neighbor's) Old Room

Since there are only about six of you who read this blog, I'll be lucky if two people get the lame reference to the song Making Fun of Bums that titles this post.

When I finished high school my mom sold the house I grew up in since I was four, and she moved to a new neighborhood. When I was in Texas last week I went for a run through my old neighborhood, past my old house, for old time's sake.

One of the nice things about running past the old house, is everything looks pretty much the same, aside from some minor lanscaping changes (a few trees have been removed, some bushes have been mercifully trimmed, things like that). The house is still the same color, and some of the very same plants are still in some of the planter boxes.



It's comforting to see something as remote and abstract as my childhood home still more or less intact.

So it was most unsettling to run past the old house, with everything looking pretty much the same, and then see that the house next door had been completely razed. Imagine my surprise when I saw this.



A red 1950s rambler used to be in that lot. That house has been burned into the folds of my memory, so it makes no sense to my eyes that it is no longer there.

The Ls were an elderly copule who used to live in that house. Mr. L had about eight dogs (no exaggeration), who enjoyed life in a heated dog house in his back yard. Our two houses alone must have dropped the property value of the other houses on our block by a good 20%. He had all those dogs, and we had five ducks and two of our own dogs.

I don't remember too much about the Ls. They had two granddaughters that my sisters and I used to play with (I can't remember their names), but I didn't see them much after I was around seven or eight years old. You know, I thought girls were gross, and I actually was gross. So that pretty much ended any friendships I had with those two girls. I also remember Mr. L often cleared his throat by hawking a big loogie and spitting it out as he walked out to check on his dogs. I know this because we could hear him from inside our house, even when our windows were closed.

I didn't see much of the Ls as I progressed through high school. One Saturday afternoon I heard an ambulance pull up on our block. I walked outside to see what was going on and the ambulance was parked in front of the Ls' house. I was going to walk over to see if everything was okay, but Mrs. L just waved "hi" to me and calmly walked in the house with the paramedics. That was the last correspondance I would have with her. A few days later my mom told me Mr. L had died.

According to my family this lot has been vacant for about a year. So the tear down part is done. I wonder what kind of house will eventually take its place. I know that neighborhoods evolve and houses get replaced, but it was still such a stark change to run by.



As the old saying goes "you can never go home again," and I don't really want to. But even so, it is unnerving to have such concrete proof right in front of your eyes.

Fat Fight

I-35 connects Minnesota to Texas. Minnesota seems to have its own rivalry with Texas, although most Texans are not aware of this.

But let's just say for a second Texans and Minnesotans had equal feelings about such a rivalry. Say a friendly, trivial rivalry like St. Paul vs. Minneapolis. For example, St. Paulites brag about the Cathedral, The Nook, and the Science Museum. Meanwhile, Minneapolitans puff their collective chest out over the Basillica, Matt's, and The Walker.

So what if St. Paul, Minneapolis, and the rest of Minnesota joined forces to take on Texas?

Minnesota could boast The Jucy Lucy. Texas would counter with deep-fried catfish.


A Jucy Lucy from The Nook in St. Paul, MN

vs.

Fried Catfish Platter from Brieztke's Cafe in New Berlin, TX

Who would win?

Southern Lights

Happy New Year everyone. Emily and I spent the week from Christmas Day to New Year's Eve in San Antonio. Part of our stay was in St. Hedwig, Texas, which I learned is the second biggest municipality in Bexar County, outside of San Antonio. Who knew? Well, my brother-in-law knew, and now I do, since he told me. Anyway, 30.1 square miles? Not bad for a town of 1,875 people.

Anyway, my sister and her family live out there. While the snow was flying in Minnesota, Emily and I were treated to warm weather and lots of sun. While we were in St. Hedwig, we also saw this sunset on Friday night.

Suck it, Aurora Borealis.

Who Ordered So Many Damn Spoons? Who Do I Have To Talk To Around Here So I Can Get A Knife?

Irony:Sitting in front of the TV, watching 90 minutes of The Biggest Loser season finale, while mindlessly eating mediocre chocolate snowmen that some kid gave to me at work today as a Christmas gift. I would have been eating some caramel popcorn that had clumps of chocolate in it (another gift from a different kid), but Emily didn't bring those to me because the popcorn "had too many wrappers around it," and would therefore be too much of a pain in the ass for us to open. I like the way Emily thinks.

Snuffalaffagus Gone Country

Cuy Clark's last album from 2006, Workbench Songs, has a song called Analog Girl.

Click here for the lyrics (you may have to scroll past a few ads at the top of the page).

Does such person really exist anymore? If she does, she probably doesn't live in Minneapolis.

Dude, Where's My Platoon?

I wonder if between Sunday night and Tuesday night, I set Netflix history. Specifically, I think I may have had two movies, side by side in my queue, that are unrivaled in terms of how different they are from one another.

On Sunday night, Emily and I watched this movie.

Then on Tuesday night, I watched the next movie in our queue, which was this gem.

So the question is, can anyone match this pair of movies in terms of their polar opposites? The only stipulations are that no more than 72 hours separated the viewing of the two movies, and that you didn't watch any other movie(s) between the two movies.

If you can top my movie pair, I'll send you my own copy ofthe hard-to-find DVD, Gandhi: The Animal House Years.

Keep Tahoe Blue

I finally got around uploading my digital photos to the computer. Emily already posted about our trip to Lake Tahoe in October. We went there to see our friends' wedding. It was a lot of fun. I gambled. We drank some beers. We went for some hikes.

A good time was had by all. Here are some pictures from our trip.

The first two pictures are from the shores of Lake Tahoe. The resort we stayed in had access to the beach. It was startling just how much of the shore is private property. Some friends of ours actually went for a swin the lake. And by "swim" I mean they jumped in for 20 seconds, got out, huddled by the fire, and told how cold it was.




The next two pictures are from a hike we did at Snowflake Lodge.



The last four pictures are from our hike along the Tahoe Rim Trail.

There Goes The Neighborhood

In early November, or more accurately from early November to mid-November, a friend of mine from high school stayed with us on and off for about ten days. It's a long story, but he was stationed here as part of his job. And it's an even longer story to explain why part of his job entailed having a Penske moving truck parked in front of our house while he was here. I was just happy to have another crazed Spurs fan to hang out with.

But one morning Emily took Pancho for his morning walk and found that my friend's moving van had been tagged with graffiti.



It is kind of funny that his van got tagged. But it is not so funny that such an elaborate paint job occured in front of our house. Kids/gangstas these days...

I Have Measured My Life With Grand Slam Breakfasts

This afternoon at work I was talking to one of those twentysomething crazy college kids. Part of his story involved a late night sortie to Perkins on a Friday night. And that got me to thinking about restaurants like Perkins. Is there a name for this genre of restaurant? The Diner Chains? You know the ones I'm talking about: Perkins, Denny's, Bakers Square, Jim's, Village Inn...

So far as I can tell, for a restaurant to be included in this group it must have at lest seven of the nine following traits.
-Open 24 hours a day.
-Breakfast served at all hours.
-Has to be a chain or franchise.
-Wide range of desserts, especially pie.
-Standard, dutiful hamburger and sandwich menu.
-Bright, low hanging lights.
-Utilitarian seats, booths, and tables.
-Laminated menus with lots of pictures.
-Nicknames for their menu items (i.e. Grand Slam Breakfast, The Perkins 7)

It seems to me these restaurants fade in and out of our lives. Here's the stages I've come up with.

Stage I The Home Cooking and Fast Food Phase. Birth to five. Kids are too young to really enjoy restaurants outside of saw dust nuggets, er chicken nuggets, marketed with the help of a clown and shitty plastic toys from China.

Stage II The Introductory Phase. Age five to 11. These restaurants are a special treat at this age. A nice place to get an awesome breakfast or lunch. As a kid I used to frequent the Denny's by mom's bookstore. It was a great place to eat breakfast or have breakfast food for my lunch. It was also a big deal if we got to go to Jim's for lunch and get what, in retrospect, is a very standard hamburger.

Stage III Hiatus #1. Age 11 to 15. During this age kids are too busy with school, sports, or other hobbies. Also the palate becomes a little more refined so there is now a wider range of places a kid will want to eat at. This combination of schedule demands and a refined palate leads to fewer trips to Denny's or Perkins.

Stage IV Keep The Party Going Phase. Through high school, college, and the immediate years after college, these restaurants serve as great gathering place post-moive, post-party, post-barhopping... You don't go there for the fine dining and ambiance, so much as for the fact they are open late and you can get pancakes at 2 a.m. Dude!

Stage V Hiatus #2. The Boring Grown-Up Phase. Welcome to me. If I am going to spend my money going out-to-eat, it sure better be with good company, over good food. So breakfast and lunch at Bakers Square is out. Also, my Friday nights usually end by 10 p.m. when my Netflix movie is over. So a late night run to Perkin's is out.

Stage VI Stage III Revisited. This is for all you parents who have kids aged between five and 11. They want to go to Denny's for breakfast. You take them.

Stage VII Hiatus #3. This is when your kids have outgrown stage III. Once again, you have no reason to go to Village Inn.

Stage VIII The Blue Hair Phase. I don't know why, but I always see senior citizens at Perkins. Maybe the food is easy to digest. I guess I'll find out for myself in 35 years if all goes well for me.