This is just awesome, any 30 somethings out there will remember trying to make some tunes on the C64 and the like…of course these songs are a little better than what I achieved.
South America that is- Brazil, Paraguay, Bolivia and Peru. 6 weeks of truly inspired travel, amazing sights, hairy bus rides, deadly rides….the blogging continued on another site…now I’m back, new flat, time to make money again…
That’s right, I quit the gym today. I’ve been going less and less since New Year (I always like to oppose popular trends), and now that the weather is getting towards more summery conditions, I want to be outside more!
I went once last week, and tonight I went again just to give it a go. I cycled for 10 mins, looking around at all the people grimacing indoors in the vast sweaty hall of pain, and decided that I just did not have one single ounce of motivation left in me. I can now run outside without freezing, instead of on the hamster tread, I can play Tennis instead of Squash, and I’m never going to get bulky without eating 10 meals a day and pumping iron like an Austrian madman. So why bother?!
I am 33. I like the number, so I won’t complain about getting older this year! It is also the Atomic number for Arsenic, and Jesus’ age when he was crucified!
This is from an American friend of mine who went to work in Syria last year, but had to return following the attack on the US embassy in Damascus. She returned shaken but unharmed to the States. Lately she has been disturbed by the number of (negative) forwards she gets about Muslims in America, and decided to make a statement about this wave of hate and her experience in Syria:
“On September 12, 2006, I was inside the US Embassy in Damascus, Syria, when it came under attack from four Syrian terrorists.
They threw hand-grenades.
They rammed a van laden with explosives into the entry gate.
They fired AK-47s at Syrian guards and innocent civilians.
They blew up their car.
They blew up themselves.
I’d heard the message that Al-Qaeda issued, that every good Muslim should kill an American. And hearing that, I still wonder, in a land where I was surrounded by Muslims, how is it that I, an American, survived?
I survived because …
Syrian Muslim guards rushed me out away from the van ready to explode
Syrian Muslim guards pushed me up the street away from the immediate violence
A Muslim shopkeeper hid me behind his counter so I, an American, would not be seen
Four Muslim women clustered around me and prayed
A Muslim woman took me by the hand and ran me up the street further from the violence
Another Muslim woman and her three sons took me into their home until the attack was over
Another Muslim woman and her husband drove me to my friend’s apartment since it wasn’t safe for me to go to my apartment
I’m hardly a convert, but I think it’s pretty clear that I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the Syrian Muslims.
Violence is not a religion.”
What the hell is wrong with some people? Have they all been watching Balboa? Or is it something akin to road rage that I have been faced with recently, on my jogs along the delightful riverside from Vauxhall to Waterloo Bridge and back?
My run was going rather well, I was pacing myself just enough to look good whilst maintaining a respectable speed. I crossed over Vauxhall Bridge and briefly stopped at the traffic lights as cars were still passing by. A foreign chap and his girl asked me for directions to Kennington/Oval, so I tried my best to point him in the right direction, whilst being aware that any major delay to my run at that stage would result in rapid cooling and cramp. Pointing in the vague direction of Kennington, I myself continued running over the road before the lights could change red again. I was in no particular hurry, I just eased myself into a comfortable pace that would get me home before I got too cold and tired. Before I knew it I was closing in on another runner, a rather short heavy set male who was ambling along with a rucksack hanging off his back. I took the racing line as it was obvious that I was going to pass him in the next 7 seconds, which I figured would be all that was needed – no acceleration, no showing off, just me continuing my natural course of progress.
And then it happened (again). The little toad sensed that I was closing in on his shanks, so he started accelerating. I’d seen this before, and figured I only needed to pick up my pace a little bit to put him off his course of action. Oh no, not a chance. I accelerated, and he accelerated. I then had to go up 2 gears to pass him, and when reasonably he should have given up, incredibly, I sensed that the little bugger was going to try to sprint past me (or into me). The unmistakeable sound of his rucksacks bouncing got more agitated. I had to sprint to get away from this madman, there was no way I could let him near me. He could be dangerous, there could be an ugly attempt to shunt each other off the pavement into the road or the Sainsburys car park. But worst of all, he was a squat little bastard that really had no place trying to outrun the Finn. So I ran pretty fast (considering I had already been running at a fair pace for 40 min’s), for at least 30 seconds to a minute, until gradually the rustle of his rucksack and the plod of his footfall began fading into the far distance. I should have given him the one finger salute, but I think at the time I really didn’t know what manner of foe I was up against. Suffice to say that as I embarked on my hyper space escape, I was smiling to myself as I knew that the enraged runner had been left behind. Eat my dust you nerd!
So what’s it all about? This same thing happened to me last week, although I was not feeling fit that time, and after out-accelarating the other runner, I eventually had to stop since I had exhausted myself. Why are these people trying to ruin what for me is just a great way to beat stress and enjoy the incredible vista that the Southbank offers? We’re not in an actual competitive event. I run at a fairly consistent pace and certainly don’t set out to overtake people.
I suppose you might point out that I could just let it go, and ignore the challenge posed by a random runner. But how can I, since I’m the one that was naturally running faster?
I suppose I’m a competitive c**t too then.