Movable

My MOVABLE band came today! I registered it, created another account on their site so that I could further track my half-assedness. So I charged it and synced it and it's on my left wrist (after some debate - putting it on my right would periodically skew the data because I'm forever unclean... never mind!) and it looks like this:

Well sorta, the problem is along with my RoadID, Carolina Bandz and Livestrong elastic bracelets I'm beginning to think I might be a hair over the line and into the uncharted territory of 'uncool.' I pretty much look like an unbalanced Egyptian Princess drag queen with no fashion sense (two bracelets per arm IDIOT!) and my left hand just fell asleep from blood loss - so at the moment it's just the MOVband (look I'm not the marketing genius that makes these names up!) on the left wrist.

It's uh bigger than I thought, well wider, by that I mean deeper coming off my wrist like a monster tumor that tells time.

I'm suppose to wear it for a week to get a baseline reading AND THEN increase my numbers by 10% - these Movable people don't give a rat's ass what you do, just do 10% more of it and I guess keep increasing it until you end up like this MOVABLE girl who's merely trying to get her count a bit higher. She's probably legendary 'User #16546' who logged 58,356 'moves' yesterday - I'm certain to be hanging with this caliber of individual one day (maybe this weekend) at Walmart where all you haters can judge me and my MOVABLE ways.

So how should I approach this? Currently I'm in corpse mode, no sudden movements, nothing to trigger a counter uptick - in short a true baseline. Can I go a week with this nerd magnet strapped to my wrist? Am I cool enough to pull it off? Yes, yes I am, just watch the magic.

I've uploaded May 2nd's bike ride data to prove to myself that yes, I actually did bike to work that day but I'm already falling off on the myFitnessPal logging and have added this MOVABLE (why all caps marketing geniuses?) logging. I fall off the myFitnessPal wagon because I just don't want to deal with the consequences of a fist full of M&Ms and if I don't log it - it didn't happen!!! I'm gonna have to deal with that... soon.

I feel the need for Borderlands 2 where I shall shriek my Brave Heart battle cry:

Word.

But first prep the bike, toughMudder is riding in tomorrow and I'll need to counter his "Yeah, I biked in you pussy!" testosterone emanations.

So there was no stupid bike commute, my family needed me to walk the dog this morning due to unforeseen factors that would have been totally seen had I been paying attention. Look, I'm busy logging my lameness here - I have no time for family!

I've made 3,211 'moves' so far today... um... pray for me, I'm losing my mind.

A Pleasant Valley Something

Wednesday evening in suburbia and I'm done with moving mulch and weed whacking. Pleasant Valley Sunday pops up on the iPod and I grin. What exactly was the issue that 1960s multimillionaire rock stars had with suburbia? Who cares? The last shovel full of mulch is in the wheelbarrow and my son moves off to dump it on the neighbor's driveway, we're at capacity and I seriously doubt they'll notice their mound has grown by four of five loads.

I have to prep for tomorrow's bike ride. My back hurts, I'm tired, full of lactic bullshit and just not caring but for this itsy-bitsy voice whining, "You know it'll suck, but still it'll be somewhat slightly cool to ride in tomorrow - you know it's trueeeeeee, mmhmm walk the walk."

::sigh::

I prep for the ride. The reason prep is necessary is because I like to avoid things like cars and teenagers late for high school in the morning so I get to work farmer early. It's peaceful - I saw a coyote once smack down in the middle of all those houses that look the same. Grey patchy fur, scrawny, sizing me up, probably wishing he was a wolf so he could drag me down with his pack. I picture it, the howls, the baited breath of the pack as they close in on me. My frantic SOS-es emanating from my bike bell as they finally bring me down...

Nature, I loathe it.

Most likely that wont be a worry tomorrow, but soon. Mark my words.

This is one of the side effects of indifferent exercise, mild hallucinations to take your mind of the sheer tedium of doing one more whatever of whatever it is you're doing to improve yourself. Sadly, I've reverted to the state of where I go anaerobic just getting out of the car so these are the dues to be paid, or that regret filled death bed scene where you're muttering, "If only I had biked to work more..."

I'm still undecided.

So I rode in and it was a lovely ride, the sun rising, birds singing... one landed on my bike handle and started chirping a happy good morning song causing me to join in like this:

Yeah... pretty much just like that minus the lipstick.

So I got to the gym, said good morning to goodMood and did my pathetic calf raises. Now it's time for work with all it's drama and angst. I'm ready...

are you?

An Ode to Lactic Acid

OK, HIT IT!

The Black Dahlia is not pleased with my half-assed progress, "Do ten calf lifts on your left leg, followed by ten on your right. Then ten consecutive backflips and you had better land it this time!"

The former OSU gymnast turned physical therapist is cracking the whip today during our last session. I promise her that I'll do the calf lifts because frankly the ones off my bad leg were pathetic and she promptly dumps me. This is my lot in life when dealing with twenty-something former gymnasts.

Yesterday and today are a haze of lactic acid pain...

Temperature's rising
Fever is high
Can't see no future
Can't see no sky

My boss is telling me that he commented on yesterday's post and I can't find it. I've checked my blogger settings with the sinking feeling of that dude on the wrong side of the airlock in all those movies. The window is closing and I'll miss his wisdom which makes me sad. He's a creature of focus - you have his attention only for so long and then he's focused on someone else.

Lactic acid... I could barely do a flight of stairs yesterday much less commute home on the bike.

My feet are so heavy
So is my head
I wish I was a baby
I wish I was dead

It's lunch and I'm stomping around the area where I work on this Couch to 5K thing with my wife. The rat bastards left me (something about leaving on time ::roll::) - so first I had to waddle run after them to catch up and then covered in sweat and somewhat slightly wheezy, kinda sorta keep up. Thank God they blew the finish, all of them stopping to stretch before crossing the finish line while I doddered strolled past them to victory!

In your faces LOSERS!

Oh I'll be a good boy
Please make me well
I promise you anything
Get me out of this hell

Ponder the implications of the following... and no, that's NOT me!

Deep Thoughts on Being Half-Assed.

My wife insists this is a good idea. When the wheels come off and the killing starts you know who to blame.

I'm bringing various systems online for the umgajillionth time and wondering just exactly why I bother but I do - go figure. Myfitnesspal informs me that my weight has remained the same since I last bothered to weigh in last November 12th. I could take my blood pressure but I forgot my iPad which is the keeper of the blood pressure diary and I impulse bought this MOVband thingy and now in the harsh morning light of my monitor I'm wondering why.

So, I've got this blog where I poor my angst into it like a teenage girl, myfitnesspal where I monitor my calories, neck size and mass, along with plugging in my workout info (I'm burrito1 by the way - incase you want to log in and see that I haven't done anything for awhile). And although I can see the point of it if you're a believer I find it vaguely narcissistic but that's probably because I'm dealing with lactic acid and I'm grumpy.

My boss is the definition of how this myfitnesspal is suppose to work - this thing called discipline or something - but I'm watching him shed pounds and it's almost inspirational - then I remember how he likes to listen to his employees weeping on his iPod ("It's soothing") and I focus on other things.

It took awhile last night to get the commuter bike online, new batteries for the bike computer and charging up the Garmin so it could track my cadence and HR - all this monitoring for a 3.1 mile ride but it's part of the ritual. When I get home tonight I'll upload the data to another site that will record my incredible trek.

Tomorrow there will be no bike ride - I have to go to a physical therapist for my partially ruptured achilles tendon (my boss tenderly commented, "Why do you have to do everything half-assed?!").

Half-assedness is an increasing problem in our society. Even sissies are phoning it in now. I mean REALLY?! Lingerie firm launches women’s underwear for men. I'm certain not to get beat up (well, cruelly mocked anyway) when I explain to the guys (and ladies) at the gym that "These panties are for MEN! Gosh darn it!!!" while stomping my foot for emphasis. I mean how do you un-see something like that? Don't look at me, go back to the top of this post for 'who to blame.'

I can't leave you with that - here - this will help!

#caring

The Mayor of HotMessDublin

Snot flows freely over my upper lip, the coarse bike glove dragging across it bringing sporadic relief, tears roll down my cheeks from the cold and a mouth full of cherry flavored Cold-EEZEs dribble down my chin like blood. I look like Bella dumped me, a broken hearted Edward on a bike - only HOTTER.

What the heck am I doing hump er riding this bike in at six in the morning? It's 45 degrees and I'm in shorts and a windbreaker. Thank God that whole shaving my legs incase I'm in a wreck phase has passed, or has it? Could my legs be any colder? Would shaven legs further enhance my broken hearted vamperic hotness?

Peddling onward I wonder when the bottom falls out and Lindsay Lohan is reduced to a bike if it will be a tandem so when she wrecks she can pin it on her assistant. There's quite a competition heating up between Bynes and Lohan. As Lauren Sivan noted, 'Lohan to Bynes: "I'm the Mayor of HotMessHollywood, get it?"' after she got arrested for leaving the scene of an accident. This was in response to Bynes getting kicked out of a spin class after she pulled her top off revealing a tiny black underwire bra to everyone in the class. Apparently this violates some sort of female workout code where it would have been fine had she been wearing a sports bra but lacy black underwires are a big no-no. Personally, I'm fine with it. Suffering from oxygen depravation, or drugs or just plain insanity Amanda then decided it would be a good time to reapply her makeup while casually turning the peddles and ten minutes later the instructor (who I bet was female) kicked her out because all the men in the class had stopped to watch.

Lohan vs Bynes - this could be quite a battle!

I wonder what it would take for me to assume my rightful place as the Mayor of HotMessDublin? Will shaved legs be enough? Maybe a tragic drug dependency to Cold-EEZE would help?

Ah, here at work time to become nearly-normal Bill, put to rest these deep, deep thoughts and try out these new earbuds.

Hot Mess Bynes after a Brutal Spin Class Workout

Bikes & iPods - a Question

I rode the bike into work today for the second day in a row. This is a record for me given my recent indifference to exercise. I told myPeg that I'm "tour ready" and got some snarky comment about what steroids I'm taking. "Coffee" - yeah I'm a lightweight. Today I experimented with the iPod a bit listening to Gutfeld's RedEye on the way in and "Bill's Greatest Hits" on the way home. Just one earbud, but...

Here's my question is this one ear bud iPod bike riding a gateway drug? Will I move up to both ears? Will I find myself with some Husting invented tube boombox with giant headphones blasting God knows what directly into my cerebellum, deaf and oblivious to the oncoming ambulance? I enjoyed my ride with a musical accompaniment in one ear. Music that I couldn't change because I didn't want to smack into the back of some parked car like D-TOSRV did so I was stuck listening to music I picked but wasn't in the mood for reminding me of my youth, sitting on the schoolbus listening to "Dream Weaver" whispering, "Turn it off, turn it off, TURN IT OFF!" In this particular case it was "Deathly" which I just wasn't in the mood for but couldn't change like I could during a walk. I was STUCK with Aimee's whining - I started to grin.

Here's the thing - I enjoyed it but I don't want to get pancaked by some motorist because I was inattentive. My fellow bikers or anyone reading this with a chip on your shoulder - do you bike with an iPod? If so what do you do, one ear or two?

Bill's Tire Town

My grandmother, may she rest in peace, was something of a unique individual. She opposed seatbelt laws and was always looking for unusual ways to make money like having a patent on a sun visor that followed the sun. One thing she did that was very sweet was give me an acre of land in New Mexico shortly before she passed away, "I took a shot that the city would go one way but it went the other way."

"Well grandma it might go that way one day, thank you!"

So for 15 or so years I've been paying $6 a year in taxes on property I've never seen, idly hoping someone would strike oil or want to build a sky scraper when the city decided to turn around and go that way. Last week I got a certified letter from Torrance County. Actually getting the letter turned into the kind of bureaucratic nightmare only the federal government using it's catspaw the post office could devise. It took a week of back and forth but I finally got the stupid letter Monday after driving to the post office and showing them ID and signing for it ninety times.

I open the letter and it's from some New Mexico Code Enforcement officer. His opening got us off pretty much on the wrong foot, "Dear Landowner, We are sending you this letter because you have illegally dumped tires and debris on your property."

God DAMN those blackouts! It explains so much, why I'm always tired and my lower back hurts. There's no other explanation for the deviant ways of the Midnight Bill, Tire Dumper.

There were other threats and saber rattling but it boiled down to, "We don't care who did it, it's your property so you can clean it up or start paying fines and facing jail time." I ponder the trade off of jail time versus writing these reviews for my staff before picking up the phone and calling officer DeCosta.

He explains it's gonna cost around 1,800 bucks to clean the mess up. He's not sure since he hasn't actually been out there but since this is on four lots you can divide the cost by four. Also he gives me the coordinates to my little piece of heaven, Lot 7 Estancia Ranchettes so I can look at the "compound" using Google Earth if I want to.

He explains that my lot is in the bottom most, southwest corner of Estancia Ranchettes and that of all the lots only a few have been developed, as in had power and running water but they are far away from mine. I'll let officer DeCosta explain, "Your type of lot is favored by folk who um don't like other people, you know just don't want to be around them (OK that sounds like grandma!). You could say they're the crazies. They might be building some sort of tire wall on your land," and he kinda giggles.

OK now I'm wondering if there's going to be some sort of Branch Davidian siege of Bill's Tire Town when he pops that bubble saying that it's apparently deserted and they left some sort of dilapidated school bus behind. At least that's what he thinks it is from peering into google maps.

I tell him I plan to get this mess cleaned up and sell the property ASAP. He thinks I can get about $900 for it. I thank him, hang up and plug in the coordinates.

I grabbed two pictures of the site, the first one shows where my lovely lot is in relation to civilization. Off to the lower left you can see Albuquerque. Sort of in the center is Santa Fe and the upper right is Philmont where I suffered mightily last summer. In the bottom center is a little yellow push-pin indicating Lot 7 Estancia Ranchettes.

See it? If any of you are psychic would you do me a favor, contact my grandmother and ask her, "What city went the wrong way? WHAT CITY????!!!! THERE ARE NO CITIES, JUST DESERT GRANDMA!"

The nearest city is mine, Bill's Tire Town.

Now if you scroll down a bit you'll see a close up.

Yes it could be mistaken for the surface of Mars but alas it's nothing so exotic. All those black things are tires and one fourth of them are mine. Isn't that great?! I get to pay for their removal because some lazy butt wouldn't man up and take care of it himself. I hope his car suffers forever from flat tires! I hope he's out there now muttering to himself, chewing rubber and trying to figure out how to best defend his Ken Kesey bus from the zombie apocalypse.

But he isn't is he? He's moved on leaving his mess for others to pick up. The dick.

Bill's Tire Town - Population Bill

goFast sent an update in a comment using Google's way-back feature illustrating a Bill's Tire Town back in its heyday. There is a certain siege mentality in the following and the next photo on May 28, 2009 shows the ruins in the above pic. What Mad Max/Breaking Bad battle occurred? Feel free to sift through the ruins and find out, just let me know.