Bland Boredom

I have a feeling that I'm just going through the motions for this blog, yet again. There are five things I could have written about, but just didn't feel like writing about. Not necessarily were they private or embarrassing, I just don't feel like writing about those things. It's like I'm living a less-monotonous version of Groundhog Day. Same Shit, Different Day (SSDD). I joke about it, but that's actually what it's become.

Right now, it's virtual autopilot. I need something drastic to break me out of the groove. Positive or negative, don't really care. Drop a car on me. Let me win the lottery. I don't know, and it doesn't matter. Just let something happen.

Grander Theft

Grand Theft Auto 4 has been getting such ridiculous reviews, I feel compelled to buy the game and play it. However, I've never been wholly enamored by the series. The first and second were never that much fun to me. It just seemed like a top-down game solely on the radar because of all the violence. The third and onward were OK, but what really frustrated me was that the controls were never as tight as I would have hoped. The style of game just never appealed to me.

Still, it's been touted as a wonderful sandbox game (go anywhere, do anything), as well as a compelling single player game. Plus, everyone's calling it the greatest game in history. I have to try it on that basis alone. Still, there's not enough time to try it. Given the breadth and depth of the game, and how I only really play video games about five hours a week, it'll be something of a waste. On top of that, I still have Super Mario Galaxy, Metroid Prime 3 and Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess to get through.

There would be enough time (there used to be enough time) if I would give up a lot of the things, such as sleep. I don't know where all the time went. Even worse, I don't really mind not being able to play video games every day, all the time. This can only mean one thing; tertiary syphilis causing insanity. Damnation.

Car Trouble

I saw a Lexus today. However, it was not one tone, it was not two tone, it was three toned. The top and roof was black, the bottom was green, and the rear bumper was yellow. Yes, I have to assume the mockery of a car was a Lexus, due to the insignia centered on the back of the trunk, the encircled L.

Now, I'm no car buff. If cars were giant mecha, I'd be all about them (and would probably have become a mechanical engineer to fix them). But wheeled conveyances just don't do it for me. This means there are one of two main possibilities. First, this was a Lexus, and he (had to be a he, no woman is this stupid) actually went ahead and modified it with all sorts of colors and mistakes. If you're going to mod a car, you better be doing some sort of performance mod. I respect performance mods, you're trying to make a better machine. I can accept if you're adding performance plus aesthetic mods. But this is a Lexus, and there's not much reason for modding it. You want to do that? Buy a cheaper car and use the money you saved for additions. No, these aesthetic mods were ridiculous.

But in a way, it's almost understandable. No, I take that back. I cannot defend this, except in light of situation two. If the man purchased a Lexus insignia and slapped it on the back of a different make of car, I must castrate him, for he is far too stupid to procreate. It's one thing to badge non-R-type cars with the red R. It's another thing to horrendously mod a car and make people think it is a Lexus. Who are you trying to fool, and why couldn't you have figured out a better way to do this? Freaking idiot.

Minor Tweaks

I minorly tweaked my ankle while running. Oddly, it happened when I slowed down to walk it off. The pain appears to have gone away for a while, but it's a strange twinge that keeps reoccurring. Add this to all the minor scrapes and bruises on my body, and it's like I'm taking the first tentative steps towards body modification/mutilation.

And whenever I think about piercings and body mods, I think back to the waiter at the pho restaurant who'd pierced his fingernail. Not the pink, the white. He'd drilled or carved a hole through the tip of his nail, probably three-fourths of an inch long (the nail, not the hole). Through this hole, he threaded a simple gold ring, very thin, probably light. But, he'd pierced his fingernail.

People mod their cars, their computers, their personal belongings. It's all an extension of the body mods humans have been performing since forever. External mods are just an outgrowth of internal mods, making yourself "harder, better, faster, stronger" (Thank you, Daft Punk). Sort of want to figure out a way to mod my ankle to be stronger. Maybe some subdermal rods, or a titanium cage. At what point can I apply to become a cyborg?

Excess Love

I keep thinking about going to Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park and giving a speech. It's been one of my life's goals. There's just something about me, absolutely hating public speaking, going to the most famed forum for public speaking and giving a speech to the completely random assemblage. Of course, I'd record it, at least on tape.

One of the biggest problems will be traveling so that I end up there during the local daytime, so I don't get shanked at midnight giving a ridiculous speech. That's just a matter of timing and planning, so that's not so big. Another is the price, but again, timing and planning. It's definitely something that will require a fair bit of advance planning.

The biggest problem is the speech to give. I can't go without a topic, at the least, and maybe I should go with a speech prepared. And therein lies the rub. It would have been easy to write on the trip over, but I think I'll have to sleep on that plane ride. No, I have to write it first, then travel over there, give my two minute speech, and roll out. What's the topic? I've labored over this for a while, and my best thought: There is too much love in this world. Something in the vein of Swift's "A Modest Proposal." We'll see how I handle that so as not to come off like a jackass. Ah, dreams.

Oh, by the way, three hundredth post, and it only took three years. Woo, I guess.

Argumentative Bastard

I'd held the impression that my postgraduate education had instilled in me my analytical thinking when it came to rhetoric or questioning. That was what led to me automatically arguing with people. I also thought that it was a horrifying offshoot of that education. J.E. and J.S. suggested that this was not the case, that I might have always been argumentative.

I don't actually know the answer to this one. Part of the way my mind works (has it always worked this way?) is that I don't really recall the past, except as disjointed flashes. The only thing I can truly remember about my childhood was that I was happy more often than not. The only thing I really remember about my recent adult life is that I was happy less often than not.

The obvious thing would be to ask people that knew me before my postgraduate education. Then again, the answer may frighten me. Is it right to delve into the person I was? Should I just step away and forget the throwaway thought? Am I going to go write something else right now?

Damnable Rocks

I guess in line with my declining video gaming skillz, I have to contend with my never-quite there rock climbing skills. It's fun (except for the looking down and dropping), but for me it's fairly frustrating. I can see in my mind how to do it, but my body just won't quite do the things my mind deems necessary. Right now, I can barely type correctly; it's a struggle to get my fingers into the right places.

Right now, I'm too stubborn to give up. I'm going to learn how to do this to some greater-than-current level of proficiency. I'm never going to get over the fear of heights, but it's not debilitating. At the same time, I need to build up more strength/lose some weight so I can support myself on these crags. If nothing else, it's something drastically different from everything else I'm doing in my life.

There could be a third paragraph, but I want to rest my forearms.

Eroding Skillz

More and more, I'm finding myself having to accept my gradual, but noticeable, decline with regards to video games. It'll be good preparation for when the rest of me falls apart (or continues its slow decline). I can still play a game somewhat competitively, but no longer can I go buckwild at a moment's notice.

Part of this is a function of no longer having the time or the patience to play games as much as I used to. Less practice means less ability to play a game at a high level. The other part, my reflexes are just slowing down. K.C. spilled a glass of water on the table towards me, and rather than react, I just watched the water splash down and dribble onto the seat, thinking to myself "Boy, I should move."

This hasn't stopped me from playing games, it's merely made me have to adjust to compensate. No longer do I play on Hard by default, but Normal, or in the case of games like Devil May Cry and Ninja Gaiden, Easy. I play much more defensively/"cheap" in order to get any advantage that I can, because I'm certainly not going to outreflex everyone. I've even thought about getting subdermal implants, once available, to enhance the waning skills.

Lost Voice

I had the weirdest dreams while reading American Psycho. Many of them tracked what Pat Bateman was doing in the novel. I do not think I'll be re-reading it any time soon.

***

So it didn't hit me how badly I'd lost my voice until I tried to make a phone call and it sounded like I was going through puberty again. The voice was just so scratchy and whiny, cracking at every moment.

I've tried on several occasions living as a mute, or just not talking to people. It was fun, but today, when it was frustrating to even speak, I learned just how much agony it would actually entail. The level of comprehension would be much the same, but at least when I speak, I can make my thoughts known, and make an attempt to convey ideas and messages.

It did, however, make for several interesting moments when at the restaurant, when I would say thank you to females refilling my water, and my voice would crack. When I would try to rant about something, and it came out mostly as a few disconnected squirts and whines. When people kept making me say stuff just to make me say stuff. Whee.

Hate People

If you have a weak stomach, check back in on Monday when I regale you with the normal random crap I do. Otherwise, get ready for ranty K.T.

***

"The morning after"... Thank blue heaven the article below was a hoax, at least, according to this article. Still, it's ranty enough that I'm gonna keep the below.

***

I just read this article. I may need to reread it.

For the record, I'm pro abortions, and I'm pro life. Hypocritical? Perhaps, but I think it's almost crueler to force a woman to birth a child, then abandon it to the streets or the broken foster care system. A life lived without love, when you need it the most? In "a perfect world" we would be able to forego abortions. People wouldn't make mistakes, people wouldn't commit sexual violence against one another, etc. But we don't, and there's no catch-all solution. I wish people weren't dumbasses, but they are, and something tells me I have to love them, flaws and all. And that means letting them wipe out their mistake the easy way.

That said, you get an abortion because it was a mistake, because it was the product of sexual violence, because it's threatening the mother's health, because you can't raise a child. Something has gone wrong, and you are taking steps to make it right, as best you can. Ms. Shvartz, she mocks us all. She had these abortions for the purpose of art. There was nothing wrong, and she's gone and made it wrong, then rectified that situation, just for "art."

From the article: "But Shvarts said the goal of the project is to encourage debate and discussion about the connection between art and the human body." Fine, where does art come into the argument? People throughout history use complex, vaguely defined, overbroad words to justify their actions. Religion is another popular example, but here we're dealing with "art." This is just shock value.

This is one of those situations where I can't really say exactly what's wrong. From a legal standpoint, the article is correct. She's done nothing wrong, legally. And so many people have used a fine twist on the law in order to reinterpret what it was intended to do, and slip yet something else past. Meanwhile innocent men and women suffer due to the law (and I digress).But just because you do something legal doesn't mean that what you've done is right. I can't break down why it's wrong in any normal terms. All I can tell you is that this is one of those things where my gut tells me that she's wrong, and I have to trust it.

(A few years back, in a fantasy football league, people were trading players on bye weeks for top-tier players, only to trade back when the bye had passed. There was nothing in the rules that said that was wrong, but I knew deep-down that it was wrong, that it was unfair. I was in the minority, and those trades persisted. Now I know what was wrong, even though I couldn't craft a legal argument: simple unsportsmanlike conduct. Screw game theory here, I should've stuck by my principles, rather than let it get to the point where I hate playing in that league.)

What burns me is her primary aim, this "art" of hers. On one level, it's more noble than aborting the unintended product of a one night stand, because it's so much more noble and true. On another level, the couple was just trying to have sex, have a little fun, whereas she is trying to make this right by justifying via art. The couple knows they fucked up, and maybe they're not taking responsibility, but they're doing something to make it better. She just says she wants to open a discourse. It's the real-world equivalent of unsportsmanlike conduct.

If I ever met her, I'd probably start screaming. She'd probably take a long drag on her cigarette and calmly tell me that it wasn't worth having a discourse with me if I wasn't calm and collected, and unless I was going to bring a logical argument why it was wrong, I should go away. I would then proceed to slap the ever-loving shit out of her. She would make some remark about me being a troglodyte, having to resort to physical violence because my mind wasn't formed enough to understand the import of what she'd done.

You know what? I know exactly what she's done, I know full well the import, and that's why I wouldn't stop slapping her.

***

Five minutes later ... Yeah, I'm probably being irrational, and illogical, and from a cold, neutral, inhuman standpoint, you are correct. I would make a lousy debater, lawyer, anything that requires cold, unfeeling logic. I'm a poor excuse for a robot.

Guess what? I'm still human.

Climb What?

I think J.L. put it best. I had just detached from the wall after getting three-fourths of the way up, and my forearms weren't willing to keep going. He said I did a triple take when staring down. I do remember crying out "Holy crap!" Yeah, the fear of falling is a wonderful thing. I even had trouble letting go when I was four feet off the ground in training. I could barely let go of my right arm, swung with my left hand and feet still on the wall, grudgingly let go, and whimpered a bit while I was lowered. Four friggin feet. What a mighty feat.

There were more than a few "Oh crap" moments for me, but I did manage to reach the top of the wall on some shorter fifteen foot structures. I also attempted several leaps of faith to reach a handhold, after watching J.L. rather effortlessly reach them. Needless to say, it was like a dog pawing at the top of the fridge.

My forearms ache, and I'm wired. I could go for a run if I had to, but can barely lift a bottle of water using only my elbow. I guess all this is an attempt at saying that I'm going again. Why do people climb a mountain? Because it's there. I understand this a little more now. Just have to make sure not to look down.

Whiny, Sick

Woo, I'm sick, and I'm going rock climbing tomorrow. This is going to end poorly.

So Cold

The past few days I've been freezing, because of the refusal to wear appropriate clothing. It is April, I should be able to wear shorts and a t-shirt without freezing. So, the stubborn streak forces me to do so, even though I'm tremendously uncomfortable.

Why can't I just accept that there are things in this world beyond my control, like the weather? Because technology has given us the capacity to change, no, to master, so many things about our lives. It's no longer us versus environment.

It also makes those things which we can't change that much more difficult to accept. So, what happens when we finally get to the point when weather is perfect, and we can control it? Hell, China is attempting to seed clouds with silver in order to get them to rain early, so the Olympic opening ceremonies aren't dripped on. When does technology go too far? Has it already gone too far?

Mario Party

Wii games are usually only fun when played multiplayer. Take, for example, Mario Party 8, which I have played single and multi. It is the multi which caused me to play for way too long today, keeping me from getting stuff done. Hence, obligatory short post.

***

I came in just under thirty-one minutes. Not exactly the time I was hoping for, but K.Q. was hungover, and R.L. wanted more just to finish, so we ran as a pack. Ah, well, next race. At least I finished.

***

"I guess we found out his weakness - bullets!" -LL Cool J, Mindhunters. I must now A) abuse this quote for GTalk, and B) watch this movie, just for this quote.

Right Brain

I've been taking a few tests to determine whether I'm right brained or left brained, after this article. There are other tests I've taken, one said I was left brained, most say I'm right brained, though I'm fairly in balance, at least according to how close these tests are. Here's a table that lists some of the characteristics of both sides. You can google for a lot of tests.

It seems like in my life, I tend towards many more left brained individuals than right brained. This may go part way towards explaining why, well, I can't explain myself to others. Then again, it just might be a personal failing. It does help to explain why I'm so random at times.

Here's a relatively fruity article that makes me think that, to some extent, the author is trying to make himself feel better about something, but it's worth a read. This is a fun test describing the Stroop effect. Yeah, this is just me helping people waste time, but at least it teaches you a little about yourself. After all, according to Lyall Watson, "If the brain were so simple we could understand it, we would be so simple we couldn't."

All-season Greeting

As I'm running down the street, about three hundred feet downhill, a woman is getting out of her car, and she's looking back at me. Even though I've my contacts in, my eyes have gotten worse since I got the scrip, so the vision, she ain't crystal clear. I'm right now guessing she was wearing a red top and a black skirt, but I barely remember stumbling back from my run. She stares at me for about five seconds, as I measure two steps to be a second in my oxygen-deprived mind. I'm in a t-shirt and black shorts, just running. The most threatening thing about me might be that I'm hispanic to white people, and the hair is unkempt and shaggy. Beyond that, I'm not a threat.

The weird thing is that as she's climbing the stairs to her house, as I draw closer, she turns back and stares at me as I'm running past. I'm trying not to stare up at her, but this is kind of freaking me out. As a runner, I've grown accustomed to being a ghost, running past as people turn their heads away and pretend I don't exist. When I breach someone's personal space and line of sight, then they acknowledge me, but only then. No one sees me from a distance, and no one turns to stare at me.

The key? I need more automatic scripts. You know what I'm talking about. "Hi." "How are you?" "Good, you?" "Good." I just need to make a comprehensive list of what might happen to me in any given day, and then create an auto-script to deal with the initial exchange. Then, it gets impossible to predict. Some football coaches and chess players script their initial exchange; it must have some merit. Then again, they may have generic scripts, so I may actually need a catch-all script that covers around seventy to eighty-five percent of all situations.

Here's the problem: the only auto-script that could possibly cover all that is:

"Hi." *nod head and smile*

I already do that. Am I reduced to this genericism for the rest of my life? There's got to be a better script...

"Fuck off." *nod head and smile* - Too antagonistic.
"I love you." *nod head and smile* - Too protagonistic.
*punch other person/s in face* - May fight back.
*punch self in face until blood pours out of nose* - Takes too long.
"Sing opening refrain of "It's a Small World"* - Song stuck in head.
"Can you identify this rash?" - Too much potential to be registered as sex offender and/or too cool for this world.
*Execute the running man* - Too 80s.
*turn head away and keep walking* - Too damned effective.
*leaping hip check, like in NBA* - Too much potential to hip check short people in the head.
*Pound chest* - Too hurty.
*Waggle eyebrows* - Too ambiguous.
*Flash gang signs* - Don't know any.
"Goodbye." *nod head and smile* - Too perfect to pull off without looking like a jackass.
"Can you dig it?" - Too obscure a reference to The Warriors.
"Do you have the time?" - Too ridiculous if I am wearing a watch.
"Caw, caw, caw!" - Too plagiaristic of ravens, raptors and D.C.
*smooth eyebrows using index and pinky fingers simultaneously* - Requires far too much coordination and spittle.
*Pull out Nintendo DS, activate Pictochat, text "hello"* - Requires other person to have a DS.

I'll find a better auto-script, somehow. Damn it.

Smash Tactics

I was checking out the internet for some advice on how to improve my Super Smash Brothers: Brawl skills. What I've found horrifies me. The competitive scene plays about twenty layers above my skill level. It's like we didn't even buy the same game. The basic tenets are the same. I base my game around the same basic principles I play almost every single fighting game.

Faster, weaker characters that can capitalize on mistakes
Play a more patient, defense-oriented game
Block often, then counter
Attack when they can't fight back

There are exceptions, but it mostly boils down to block their attack, hit back.

In contrast, here's a sample tactical sentence based on what I learned: "Zelda's Usmash can be comboed twice on the ground when at low percentages, but the opponent can DI out of it." Here's another, describing how to do a move that is legal within the physics system of the game, jumping while facing backwards: "To execute a RAR, dash, tap backwards, then forwards and jump. This way, you can lead with the Bair, which for most characters is their best approach."

My favorite example of how crazy fighting games can get? This is from a national championship for Street Fighter III, 3rd Strike. The repeated timing needed to execute the repeated parries is within fractions of a second, and it's almost robotic the way he executes. That, plus the way the crowd goes apeshit, makes me realize... I need a new hobby.

Hair Cut

I made a vow that I wouldn't cut my hair until after this freaking race, and I've got less than a week to go. It's starting to get really long, though not as long as during my school days. Still, it's getting there. I could slick it all back given enough gel, but that seems a bit too ridiculous. The temptation to dress up goes hand in hand. Then I'd just look some wannabe 80s corporate raider fresh out of B-school, or whatever cute abbreviation they give business school.

Way I see it, I can shave my head bald, get a crew cut, or just get it cut a little shorter and continue to part it. Or, of course, slick it all back. Why is this so difficult? I don't know. For someone that tries not to give a damn about what other people think, this is certainly causing me a lot more grief than I'd anticipated.

At this rate, there's not going to be any resolution. I may well just stop a stranger and ask them before going into the barber's. Then again, I also have to find a barber. Stupid freaking barbers. I hate the barbers. I hate hair cuts. Shazbot.

Complaining Incessantly

With one exception, I really enjoy my coworkers. They're all incredibly capable people, easy to be around and work with, always helpful when I need assistance (and I need a lot). I'd also like to think they find me easy to get along with, not necessarily helpful, but also not a hindrance to their own work.

There's just one that frustrates me to no end. Sometimes, I need to marshal up the strength to interact with that coworker, before actually having to deal with the coworker. I've not had to do that in a very long time. It's not that this coworker is a bad person, I just can't reconcile the implicit arrogance and the air of superiority that make me feel like a second- or third-class citizen. (No, it's neither D.C. nor C.E.)

I think what hit home on this one was a meeting behind held in the lobby. This coworker was sitting on the two person couch, and rather than sit down next to them, I plopped down on the floor directly next to the couch. What made this worse was that a fellow coworker had also foregone the couchable seating. I made up some bullshit story about needing to sit on the floor after spending all day in a chair.

There have been times where he'll walk into my office, and almost immediately upon entry, I'll get so mad that I'll start to reverse his comments and throw everything right back at him that he says. Or when he's trying to make a joke, I'll either ignore him or say "Fuck you." I've even had to rant to officemates about him. Lord help me if we get posted to the same project.

This is probably a life lesson here. There are going to be people that rub you the wrong way. You just have to try not to flip out on them. I haven't been entirely successful, but I think I can do better, at least on the not flipping out. We'll see.

Foolish Children

I was researching MA, MFA, and PhD programs in (surprise, surprise) English the other day and night. What few I found made me realize I'd have to get the MA first, or at least enroll in a combo MA/PhD program. It hurts sometimes to look at these things, because it makes me realize how different my life could be. J.L. did make a good point that, even though I'd dreamt up some idealized version of what I'd be, there would still be that nagging pressure that something was missing in my life. And this is true, but at the same time, that choice would have been one I made.

My alter ego, J.C. (he of the thousands of credit card applications in college) is now teaching English at a third-rate college. He's had a book published to moderate success, both critical and commercial. He's now expecting his first child, and freaking out about what to read to it, what to sing to it, will he be a good father, etc. J.C. gave up video games a long time ago, because he couldn't find the time to play them anymore. He's also become a bit of a chain smoker, something that he's vowing to give up after the child's born.

Really, though, how different would it be if I'd gone to the Peace Corps for 2 years, then returned to pursue my Ph.D.? Well, I'd still now be in school, for one thing. I wouldn't be able to pay the bills, any of them. My hair would be thinning from the stress of thesis defense. I'd be having strange, unidentifiable stomach pains which happened to be the start of an ulcer. I'd probably be in a relationship with a fellow Ph.D. candidate, which would probably just make me want to strangle her and/or myself.

The big question is, how do I reconcile all of this, and move on? The simple answer is, I do not. It's nice to dream, and I may end up being the oldest person in my family to enter a Ph.D. program (72? Will I have enough left in my head to pull it off?), but at least it's something I can look forward to. And, for now, I guess I go to the bank and the grocery store and run some errands.

Eight Minute

I know for sure that yesterday, I averaged an eight minute mile over two and a half miles. This I know because I passed each half mile marker in four minutes. Of course, because of that, plus the day before, my legs are done. I had to take a break today. Still, a break is good. Plus, I'm doing a lot better than I'd hoped.

It's all a matter of relativity. Originally, I picked an eight minute mile as my goal because I just wanted to get into average shape. Around ten years ago, I'd read the average human could run a mile in eight minutes. Now, it turns out, due to America's sloth, I'm doing much, much better than the mass of humanity.

Next goal? Six minute mile, with a seven minute mile as an interim goal. After that, We'll start shaving down in fifteen second increments. Pie-in-the-sky goal? Sub-four minute mile. I think I can sprint at a four minute mile pace right now, but only for short distances, so at least I can hit the speed (maybe?). Realistically, it's not going to happen, but I need some goal that's not quite so isolationist. Although, to be fair, even when I'm running outside, I'm still running by myself, so...

Brawl Fantasia

It turns out that you shouldn't play Super Smash Brothers: Brawl right before bedtime, as this will wire you to no end. Even as you close your eyes, the theme song races through your mind, you see Peach flying through the air (Ha-Cha! Who, me?), there are radishes tossed left and right. And, it was against good old G.B., my college nemesis in Super Smash Brothers: Melee. Now we have to get C.T. in one of these matches and make him lose his mind.

Superpositive Idiocy

You know Bubble Tape? There's now several photos of me with an entire roll jammed in my mouth attempting to blow a bubble. I apparently sounded like I was born with developmental issues. The things you do to cheer people up. I guess I should be glad it wasn't a mouthful of caltrops.

Boy, I hope I can trust everyone involved to not start sending those around.

Run Lost

I went running after work. Dropped my stuff off, went outside, walked through the parking lot, and started running. In unfamiliar environs, one of my primary rules from now on has to be to only follow streets, and to not deviate onto trails unless I am sure I can find my way back. Yeah, K.T. got his ass lost.

This, despite purchasing a GPS yesterday. Problem is that it was designed for cars, not for running. I'm awful glad that I didn't carry it with me. It doesn't cradle well in the hand, and I have no pockets in my shorts. All I can take, realistically, is the keys. From now on, I must also find a way to take water.

After a few minutes of running down main streets, I find a trail, and decide to give that a go. One thing leads to another, and I see a sign for a four mile run. A bit more than I'd planned, but it's probably a loop, right? This I follow, all the bikes passing me in both directions. Finally, I come out of the woods and onto a main street, one I've never seen before.

Now, this would be the perfect time to turn back, but this is not the K.T. option. I pick "left" and go. And go, and go, and go. At one point, I have to stop in 7-11, and find a clerk that has no grasp of English or directions. She tells me what I finally discover is the proper way to run, but pointed me in the exact opposite direction. I run perhaps half a mile down the street, then find several police officers waiting outside a motel.

I ask two for directions, and one tells me I won't be running to my destination. The other tells me the information I need. I'd like to use this opportunity to have proven the first officer wrong. He said I wouldn't be running two miles. Not only did I run two miles, I probably ran more because I got lost several more times.

Did I mention I started running near sunset?

Somehow I found my way to an armed forces recruitment center, and the lights were all on. Now, I'm what you would call a wartime pacifist, in that I believe in violence until it's my ass on the line. Still, Directions are directions. In I go asking for directions, and they're amazed at just how far/how lost I am. One man, with a particularly deep voice, asks if I'm trying to get any smaller. Another asks me what school I go to, and I realize he thinks I must be around 20. I tell him I've graduated for a while.

Later, after giving some convoluted directions, he asks what school I graduated from, and I loathingly admit UMDLaw. He sits back a little and asks if I'm a lawyer. I give him the auto-spiel, that I'm barred to practice law in Maryland, but am not currently doing so. This impresses him enough to try to recruit me, this kid who is a lawyer and has run three miles or so and gotten lost. Me, I'm not one to spit in the face of someone that's just given me directions, so I listen to a bit of his spiel, then give the phone number for a call back tomorrow. Hey, options are good, and I just got recruited for the army.

On my way back, I had to stop someone to confirm I was going in the right direction. She spoke in an accent I can't place, some British, maybe Australian accent? She also had some of the most jagged teeth I've ever seen in a person, but not shaved down. More organic, like stalactites (ceiling) and stalagmites (ground). Apparently, I scare people when running, because she wouldn't really look me in the eyes, or even look at me. Well, either that or she was shy about talking to strangers, which is entirely possible, as she said she'd just moved there.

Another twenty minutes, bringing my total up to an hour, and I find my way home, stumbling the rest of the way. There's a car parked in front of the door, so I walk around and go to another door, constantly checking reflective surfaces to see if that guy's following.

No doubt, I need to get lost more and see what else happens.