Birthday eve

Tomorrow is Sunday, and I will turn 35. I will run in a race, 13.1 miles. I haven't trained as well for this race as I should have, but I still think I will finish and have fun. At least that is what I hope. I am really mostly excited to be with friends ... some hometown friends and some friends from far away.

Today it is Saturday, and I am still 34. It is gray and cold outside, and the wet wind is blowing through my house's cracked windows. It brings a chill, but the fresh air is welcome. This week, my house has been painted in every room from ceiling to floor. It is still not finished, and the painters will return on Monday. To say I have coped with the disruption and mess of this experience poorly would be an understatement. I am trying very hard to focus on the positive -- new walls, new trim, new colors, new light, all breathing new life into my home.

I ran 6.2 miles in a race last weekend, and I enjoyed myself a lot. I ran that distance faster than I ever have (not fast for many, but for me), and I felt empowered and alive. I spent many hours visiting one of my oldest friends and her three precious daughters, one of whom is brand new. I had two visits this week at my favorite coffee shop on planet earth. The shop owners know I've given up sweets for Lent so put a candle in a slice of pineapple that accompanied my cheese and egg pastry and sang happy birthday to me. That was pretty lovely of them. Soon I will see Brandi Carlile & the Indigo Girls in concert again, and that is always a wonderful thing.

I've slept both at my neighbor's house and my parents' house this week. I feel a bit displaced and out of sorts but know it's all temporary and that I'm lucky to have these places to run away to. My pets' minds have been blown by this mayhem and they've spent hours and days in various confined spaces, but I am hoping the chaos and paint fumes will purge themselves from their memories and lungs (and mine) soon enough.

My nose is a bit sniffly from the cold wet air, and I'm bundled up in fleece pants and a hooded sweatshirt bearing the emblem of my elementary school, one that my little brother wore there. (We wore these sweatshirts many sizes too large for us as children, apparently.) I'm listening to a best of Avett Brothers mix that I made once. Right now this song is playing, and its words feel like the perfect ones to embrace today:

I don't want to get beat beat down by the big big world
and quit before I even start
Lord, I just want my life to be true
and I just want my heart to be true
and I just want my words to be true
I want my soul to feel brand new.

Fat Tuesday

Another year, another Fat Tuesday. This one was perhaps not as exciting as many in past years, but it was productive and dare I say nice. I woke up very early and watched a season three episode of Arrested Development while still snuggled under the covers on a 28-degree morning, ate breakfast, and got to work in my house, SOME MORE. This pre-painting stashing is kind of for the birds, but I have made lots of progress. Some riveting photos of this excitement: Marley planting herself on top of some painted posterboard, head-exploding test shades of gray, and boxes of books given away.

My former roommate came by to get a few of his remaining heavier items so they won't get mauled by the painters. Then my dad came over with a half cafe au lait / half hot chocolate and a biscuit and helped me unscrew various things from my walls, which was very helpful. Then I painted four more gray paint samples on poster board and hung them on various walls and squinted at them and talked about them with my friend in Hawaii, who said to pick the one with the best name, and AB Chao, color smart lady. Eventually I called my mom for help and she immediately ruled out one as "BEIGE!" and picked the one she thought looked perfect in every room, otherwise known as a color championed by the aforementioned color smart lady. Thanks, Mom! Thanks, AB! It only took six tries to get gray right, no big deal. Then I went on a chilly but sunny and excellent three-mile run, feeling like a semi-good runner once again after dragging through my last two long runs. Then I took a shower and sat around in my bathrobe listening to my dogs snore, eating ice cream out of the carton in a pre-Lenten indulgence, as I plan to give up sweets again this year. Then my ex-boyfriend and I had beers and hummus and chicken salad and veggies and couscous for dinner and were friends, and all was good.

On Lundi Gras, I had dinner with my brother and his girlfriend. She and I confessed to not having seen certain movies, and he reacted particularly violently to one. "I DO NOT THINK I CAN EVER AGAIN SIT AT A TABLE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA WHERE TWO OUT OF THE THREE PEOPLE HAVE NOT SEEN COOL RUNNINGS!" Well. I have obviously added it to my queue. This, though, coming from the guy who has never seen Miracle! He admits this in the middle of the Winter Olympics, no less! As Mrs. Mike Eruzione, this offends me kind of a lot. ("I play for the United States of America.") Speaking of which, the feature on Today about the coach made me cry buckets while removing curtain rods from my bedroom wall. It was so good that I almost, but not quite, forgave the show for employing a certain ex-president's daughter as an Olympic correspondent, which I am going to go ahead and say is straight ridiculous.

And now, random links:

My Avett Bros. love goes on & on. Here's their performance on Austin City Limits that aired recently. If you don't want to watch the full 30 minutes, just watch Murder in the City and When I Drink, two of my all-time favorites of theirs. Gorgeousness.

If you like Olympic figure skating, or even if you don't, you should probably go ahead and read the men's figure skating liveblog by Joe R. and AB Chao. It is enjoyable.

I love the videos where you can hear the sound of the coaches and players during and after the football games. You know what I'm talking about? Just in case not, here's the one for the 4th quarter of the Super Bowl. It's six minutes of delicious. The moment between Brees and Payton at the end makes me boo hoo every time.

Every single person on the internet has already linked to this article, but I'm posting it anyway. Ebert in Esquire. I've been reading Ebert's most excellent blog for years, and this is a great profile. You have to love a man who responds to Sarah Palin's comment that the rest of America appreciates what Massachusetts just did in its Senate election by tweeting, "All except for sick people, idealists and the sane." Or who says what so many of us have thought but might not readily admit, "It is just plain not humanly possible to dislike Taylor Swift." As for his blog, it has an crazy number of readers and commenters, and he thoughtfully replies to so many of them. Also wonderful: his post about being able to eat or drink anymore. And his post about remembering Gene Siskel. Really, the whole damn blog is pretty wonderful. Is it wrong to think that Roger Ebert is an American hero? Because I kind of do.

Update

Oh, February. It is flying by. Highlights of this week ... the family (minus my sister and brother-in-law, buried in snow) gathered for a post-wedding, post-Super Bowl catch-up dinner. My mom outdid herself with the deliciousness -- homemade mac and cheese, shrimp stew, broccoli casserole, yumminess overall -- and everyone basically re-lived the game in a three-hour highlight reel of play-by-plays and memories. My brother and sister-in-law were at the game in Miami, and they had many fine tales to tell. Re-experiencing the game this way around the dinner table was almost as fun as the game itself.

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My little brother called me to tell me he was bringing over an early birthday present, and that I was going to love it. LOVE IT. I had no idea what he had cooking, but he showed up and put a CD in the stereo and pressed play and I heard the opening chords of "Lakes of Pontchartrain," the song we loved from the Swell Season show. Immediately I burst into tears. "I thought I'd never hear it again!" He laughed and explained that he'd found the whole show online and stayed up until 4 a.m. trying to convert the songs into mp3 files and voila! Here they were. I was so happy. There are a few tiny clips of it up on YouTube, but they're not great quality and are only a few seconds of the song, which is quite long. Listening to the whole show again, including the talking between songs & all of the audience sing-alongs, brings back great memories of a great night. And hearing this song again is just the best. It snowed on Friday morning. It didn't stick for long, but it snowed hard, big beautiful flakes, and I drove to an appointment that morning in the thick of it, listening to that song and weeping at the beauty of the snow and life and it all. Happiness. The love of Glen & Marketa goes on and on.

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The majority of my weekend, including Friday which was a snow day (ridiculous), has been spent stashing away pretty much the entirety of my possessions in my closets. When you are preparing to have your entire house re-painted, everything has to come off the walls, and everything has to come off the furniture that you have to move into the middle of the rooms. This has been a bigger job than I ever could have imagined, and I am still totally not done. I have filled up a few bags of things to give away, along with about ten boxes of books, so that feels good. Really, how many books does a person need? When you can give away hundreds and still have hundreds left, I'd say that's enough. I feel very grown up. I still haven't made the final decision about my gray (all rooms but kitchen) -- the one I thought I liked is too putty-colored and not gray enough, and the other one is a little too dark -- so I'm hitting the paint store again for more samples -- but I think I'm decided on the blue for my kitchen. Great goodness, I just hope this endeavor is worth it. It hasn't even started, and it already feels like a full-time job. I can't help but be a little anxious about reining in the pets throughout the chaos and also about the totally blank slate my house will be when the painting is done. Where will I even start? I have no idea. One step at a time, I guess.

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District 9 was really good and scared the bejeezus out of me! I thought I was going to have a heart attack watching it. I'd also like to say that I'm not sure how it happened that both Community and Parks & Recreation are better than The Office and 30 Rock every Thursday, but they are. Meanwhile, I'm now done with season two of thirtysomething on DVD and the little feature on Snuffy Walden is very enjoyable. I've always loved his music and not just because he was born in my homestate. I had the soundtrack of this show on cassette, and now I have it on CD, and who doesn't get chills during the opening theme of The West Wing? He also scores Friday Night Lights, which -- awesome. Gotta love that Snuffy.

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And now for everyone's favorite topic (I kid), running. I did a short three-miler mid-week, which was fine. Yesterday was a two hour & 20 minute run, and I made it 11.58 miles. I think at this point in the game I am going to need to accept that for those super long runs, a 12-minute mile pace is how I'm going to average out and that's the end of the story. It is what it is. I was dead tired by the end, but I survived. It was a beautiful sunny day, in the upper 40s without a cloud in the sky, and I was comfortable once I got going in shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Weather like this would be awesome on race day. Just saying, weather gods. I can't believe it's two weeks from today.

Super Bowl weekend

Well, good Lord. What a weekend. I'm going to have to break it down even though I am a bit delirious.

Friday night, my old friend and I drove to the big city to see Mamma Mia on tour. It is by no means the greatest show on earth, but we had a great time, and there's really never a bad time to be had at a musical as far as I'm concerned. It took us about two hours to get there in the already thick game weekend traffic, but we enjoyed our bag of car snacks and reminiscing about the good old days -- honestly, it is so great to have old friends with whom you can laugh when looking back on the very stupid parties you used to have and very stupid boys you used to kiss.

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Very late night, so slept in a little and headed to the farmer's market later than usual ... they were out of my beloved eggs and strawberries and oranges, so I just got some carrots and broccoli and bread. Eventually it was time for the hard part of the weekend, which was hitting the road for a two hour run after not running for two weeks, what with being felled by the swine flu and what have you. I knew I was in no way physically ready for this, but what could I do? It was time, and this race is in three weeks, and there's no more time to screw around! Luckily, it was in the low 50s and sunny, which felt great. The first hour was dare I say semi-pleasant. This run was different for me because I stocked up on things to help me finish it alive, basically. I have been so run down and have not been running at all, and my lungs still ache somewhat from coughing uncontrollably for days on end, so I knew I needed assistance. I bought a 22-ounce handheld bottle and filled it with half water, half powerade. I brought along a few sports jelly beans and a little tube of Gu. I took a sip or two from the bottle every mile and had a bean every other mile or so and shot the Gu at about 6 miles and about 9 miles. I can't say any of this made me feel sensational by any means, but I have to believe it helped on some level, particularly the hydration. The sky became cloudy by about mile 7, and it got colder, and I started feeling extremely lousy. I slowed down by almost two minutes per mile and honestly felt more like I was shuffling than running. I wasn't in physical pain for most of the run other than very achy hips -- although the bottoms of my feet definitely got sore by the end -- but I just didn't feel strong at all. I knew I wasn't going to quit, but it sure wasn't a lot of fun. I made it 10.02 miles with an average pace of 11:59 in the two hours, which I'm going to go ahead and put a positive spin on by deeming it a post-swine flu win. (Looking back ... on my first 10-mile run of my training three years ago, it took me 20 more minutes to run 10 miles. So, I feel pretty good about that. And what do you know, that run sucked, too! Oh, well. Maybe this is just not my best distance.) I am hoping that packing in some solid mid-week runs for the next three weeks will help make me a little stronger ... I've got a 2:20 run this weekend, a 10K race the next weekend, and then the race is the weekend after that, holy heavens. So -- while my training certainly leaves a lot to be desired and I haven't transformed myself into the running machine I fantasized I would have become by now, my hope is that with three eight-milers, a 10-miler, and an 11-12 miler behind me, I can at least run the whole thing and have a good time with my friends on my damn 35th birthday.

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All of this is mindnumbingly boring compared to what happened on Sunday! My friend and I decided we only live once and headed to the big city for the biggest of big games. We left early enough to get to the best brunch place on planet earth just when it opened and settled in for satsuma mimosas, shrimp and grits, shrimp etouffee omelettes, and coffee. Yes, please.

We headed to the Quarter and found a prime spot on a sunny balcony next-door to the Cathedral where we drank more mimosas and watched a dog parade. What is better than a sunny balcony of friendly people and champagne-based drinks overlooking Jackson Square and dogs in Saints costumes? Not much.

The good thing about our day was that we planned not to have plan, and it all worked out so well. We wandered through the thick of things for a while into the afternoon, people watching down the mayhem of Bourbon Street and just having a gay old time. We weren't sure where we were going to settle to watch the game, but when we stumbled on a tried and true oyster house line, we decided it looked like as good a place as any. Plenty of TVs, good food, cold beer, and nice people, both staff & guests, most of whom seemed to be very rowdy and welcoming locals. We got a table right by the front door for excellent street-scene people watching, and we also had great TV views, so it was just perfect! The oyster shuckers were banging merrily behind the bar, the ladies who run the line became our best friends, and we bonded with the folks at the next table, naturally. When we were seated, the game wasn't for more than two hours, so we just started drinking beers and ordering food and one cup and one dish after another, the time flew by ... all in all, over the course of the day and evening, we had seafood gumbo, crawfish hush puppies, red beans and rice, raw oysters, fried shrimp, and fried crabfingers ... it was a bit much, but what else could we do? Pretty soon we were patting our Acme babies, our stomachs full of food and love, and watching the game there was truly so much damn fun.

There was a line out the door the entire game, which seemed a bit crazy, but I think they were trying to watch through the window all the while hoping that some people would get up and leave, which they hardly ever did. Why would they? There was singing and chanting and cheering and hugging and nail biting and spilling and dancing and it was all just perfect if you ask me. By the time the end was near and the win was clear, I don't even know. Tears, embracing, screams about destiny. It was beautiful. I look crazy in this picture, but I don't care:

We poured into the streets and witnessed so much joy. Street musicians with giant brass instruments on corners, blowing their horns and gathering crowds of dancing fans. A girl executing perfect post-game cartwheels across the street with a Santa hat in her hand. People raising their decorated black and gold umbrellas in the air and starting second lines. So much love in the air in that way that is only New Orleans, in that way where you feel like it's the only city on earth. Destiny! Magic.

Scenes from swine flu

Tuesday ... teeny cough. Seems harmless. Figure due to vocal cord damage caused by massive screaming fits two days prior at game.

Wednesday ... cough not so teeny, but feel fine. Pleasant lunch at favorite coffee shop. Cough becomes grosser as day progresses. Fall asleep before the State of the Union and have a really weird night ... freezing in bed even though under down comforter and atop down featherbed topper.

Thursday ... Wake up. Cough, cough, cough. Cough. Check to see if lungs still in chest because it doesn't feel like it. Decide to take temperature. 101.6. Call in sick and go back to bed. Wake up about 11:30. Call mother, act pathetic. (Go-to response to being sick.) Mother strongly advises calling doctor due to badness of cough. Think to self, I don't need no stinking doctor. But I call anyway, and they squeeze me in later that afternoon.

Stop off at the lab first for a flu swab, where a tech inserts giant q-tips so far up my nostrils that she touches my brain. I decide on the spot I might never get over the painful indignity of that brief but heinous moment. Sit in waiting room, attempt to read A Confederacy of Dunces. Nurse takes temperature, which is now 103. Try to remain seated on bed while waiting for doctor but eventually decide to lie down and take a little nap. Fall fast asleep with hand over eyes to block the florescent light. Doctor arrives and asks me for some cough details about which I will spare you, but when I answer, she nods knowingly and sincerely says, "I'm so sorry." She pulls my flu swab results and says, "Yep! Positive for Influenza A, we're looking at swine flu!" Tells me repeatedly not to go near small children and that I very possibly caught it at the game. Prescribes some meds and sends me on my way.

I go to the pharmacy, where I stand around feeling really horrible and wondering if I am fit to be in public in this condition and thinking as CVS spins around me that it is the most terrible, frightening place on earth. Finally the meds are ready and I take to the couch, where I lie staring at the ceiling and thinking, "I am going to die from this." I think fever makes you crazy. Like, legitimately insane. I remember talking to my friends briefly on the phone and saying things like, "My eyelids hurt." Everything hurts. My gums. I wonder if maybe I got hit by a car and no one told me. I think I tell my mom that I feel like someone has beaten me with a bag of bricks.

(Let me just go ahead and say that Thursday was so dreadful that I would not wish this illness on my worst enemy and encourage you to get that swine flu shot! I mean it! I realize that my life was not actually in danger, but I was convinced otherwise by the cough that went down to the bottom of my lungs and turned them inside out, the blinding headache, and the alarming body aches, a trifecta of suffering not experienced since I had to leave spring break early senior year of high school after coming down with mono. This was as bad as mono. Which, for me, was as bad as it had ever been. No. Just ... no. Again: I do have perspective and realize there are much worse problems to have in life! I am just saying that I truly thought I was never going to be able to get off that couch. I couldn't sleep because everything was so sore that I'd have to switch positions and switching positions hurt. My friend had her baby Wednesday night, and I became despondent that I would never be well enough to meet her. I thought, she will grow into old age and I will never get to see her beautiful face. It truly seemed that dire. Like I said, fever. Ridiculous.)

The next few days are a feverish blur. I dream that I shoot a kitten involved in a murder plot because neither Agents Walker nor Casey from Chuck can be found to advise me about a better option. I watch a lot of TV. Even for me. The whole BBC version of The Office. Well over half of the entirety of Arrested Development, which for reasons that escape me I have never watched before, but which is delivered by my brother with the instructions, "It is important that you watch this." He is so right: nothing will ever be the same. General Hospital, where I get irrationally attached to a character named Dante and righteously offended about the awfulness of Sonny Corinthos. Caprica, which I decide I hate. The first eight episodes of thirtysomething season two, which have held up nicely, shoulder pads notwithstanding. A few season four episodes of Friday Night Lights that I needed to catch up on. (Riggins!)

There is a lot of lying around and drifting in and out of consciousness. If I never see another packet of Lipton cup-a-soup it will be too soon. I know things have reached a low point when my dog is licking off the robe I am wearing at the time soup that I'd spilled on it the day before and I just sit there and let her lick it. High point: Seeing Jon Hamm & Michael Buble together on screen, which feels at the time like the best thing that has ever happened to me. Other high points: my mom bringing me groceries. My dad bringing me iced coffee. My co-worker bringing me butternut squash soup with fancy croutons and a nice card from the group and Sprite and M&Ms. Really these people just drop the stuff off at the door and run away because no one wants to come inside. Not that I blame them. One of my co-workers calls me to check on me and says, "How did this happen? You practically drink hand sanitizer." It is so true. But I did hug a lot of strangers at the game. And that Vikings fan did spill his drink on my head. And I did drink some million dollar cups of Superdome draft beer that had probably been prepared by some hands of questionable cleanliness. Does it matter at this point? No.

Fast forward until today, a week since teeny cough started, and I went back to work for a half-day, if only to get away from my animals and see some human faces, after not leaving the house for what felt like a million days, but was in reality only like five. Running: Derailed. So totally derailed. Can't imagine having stamina to do a short run this coming weekend, let alone a long run. But I guess I have to try. If I don't really get up to speed on training, I might just have to shrug and embrace the notion of just finishing. But I hope to build up again and be able to run the whole thing with pride. Might be tricky considering it's so soon and I'm only up to eight miles, but I want to try.

Meanwhile, my friend started a new blog where she writes about cooking and music, which I think is a fantastic idea. And now I must go and watch some craziness go down on the season premiere of Lost.