Several people have told me I'd be better off running outdoors than on a treadmill. Here's why I prefer the treadmill:

- It's a smooth, regular surface without possible holes, rocks, and other things to trip on. It's also made for running, so it's not as hard as pavement.

- I generally run late at night. My living room is well-lit and free of two-legged critters who might do me harm.

- My living room is climate-controlled and well-lit.

- With a treadmill I have a predictable, repeatable experience, and both the controls and metrics for that are at my fingertips. As a corollary, the pace-change indications are in front of me. "Run until 17:30" is easy.

- Having small-bite progress markers in front of me keeps me going. An open trail thart didn't have very closely-spaced counters of some sort wouldn't work as well for me. I know that most people would be quite the opposite in this regard.

- My entertainment options are more varied, and don't require me to carry anything or wear headphones.

- If I injure myself, and I think this is a matter of when rather than if, help is more accessible.

The only downside I can see is that it requires a functioning treadmill. I can cause that to happen again with time and/or money, and likely not too much of either.

I don't imagine myself ever being a social or organized runner, so that's no issue.


Did I overlook anything?

I just spent some time in the hotel's fitness center running. I finished W2D3. With a bang, and not a bad one like the last time I tried to it.

My current pattern is a five minute warm-up, followed by 90 seconds of running and 120 seconds of walking for a total of 20 minutes, then a five-minute cool-down walk.

Usually, I can do the first half of the workout OK but the last couple of runs of a session kick my ass-- I barely make it through, and I really have to push myself for the last 20 seconds or so of each segment. At the end, I feel like I'm ready to keel over and die.

Today, I made it through the fifth segment without problem. I made it through the sixth 90-second run without dying and thought to myself, "Well, let's see what happens." I kept running for another 30 seconds. And then another 30. And then I looked at the clock and decided to stop, because I have to meet someone for dinner soon. Note: I decided to stop.

So I managed to make my last 1.5-minute run a 2.5-minute run, and I feel fine. My hip is a little bit sore, but it was sore before I started so I can't manage to care about that.

P.S. This is where it gets scary. I'm thinking of getting up early so I can run again tomorrow before my flight. Please send the dudes in white coats pronto.
I've said this before and I'll say it again. HOLY CRAP! With what the fuck? sprinkles on top.

Oh, and I did the running segments a little bit faster than I have before. I don't think it really makes a difference, though, because it just means a slightly longer stride. I'm not actually working harder.

new superhero tidal dave. I always liked the idea of Aquaman, but i've never read a really good aquaman comic, and i never got into the sub-mariner. I also wanted to make a superhero i could relate to, so Dave's problem is his parents weren't killed and he has no driving force to help him fight evil.

Oh and loads of people just added me as a friend, have i been featured in something?

I ran tonight. I didn't finish, but I have a good excuse.

So there I was, running along, about two thirds of the way through my workout, and not quite dead yet but thinking I'd probably make it to the end. And then, BANG!
( Something popped. )

The empire strikes back

In recent weeks, we've taken huge steps towards blocking spam accounts on LiveJournal. In fact, we've suspended as many as 30,000 accounts in a single day! We've implemented several pre-emptive measures to prevent the creation of spam accounts, and we've honed our detection of suspicious content. Spam bots are a crafty lot, so we'll continue to refine our tactics and keep up the good fight to keep you safe from spam attacks on LiveJournal.

RSS feeds again

If you're addicted to xkcd_rss, icanhaschzbrgr, or other syndicated feeds, we're pleased to report that we've resolved the update error that was mucking up your RSS feeds. While content was being pulled correctly, it wasn't being posted to the feeds themselves. Late last week, we finally nailed down what we hope was the root problem, so content should post properly. We thank you for your patience.

Wii have killer CSI Deadly Intent contests!

c_s_i

If you're a gamer who loves CSI, have Wii got news for you! c_s_i is sponsoring killer contests. Simply post a question to a member of the CSI crew. The winner will get a free copy of CSI: Deadly Intent for Nintendo Wii (with a retail value of $39.99) and get their question answered by a member of the CSI writing team! There's also a fantastic monthly contest. To enter, join c_s_i, play the online version of CSI: Deadly Intent, and respond to a two-part query for a chance to win a Wii! Entries will be judged on composition and originality. Sorry, but you must be a U.S. resident and over 18 years old to participate. Check out the rules here.

Enveloped in postcards

Last week, we asked you to send in postcards to help us decorate our drab concrete walls. Here's a photo of the results so far! Thank you so much and please keep them coming! You can mail them to Frank the Goat, Esq., c/o LiveJournal, Inc., 539 Bryant Street, Suite 210, San Francisco, CA 94107. Be sure to include your username, since we'll be giving ten random users paid account credits.

Photos of the week

If you haven't visited our new LiveJournal photo community, you're in for an amazing visual trip. LiveJournal users from around the world will take you on a scenic journey to everywhere. Post your own pictures or kick back and enjoy at lj_photophile. You can view some of this week's awesome photos after the jump. Please start tagging with geographic location, since we'd like to track all the places around the world represented in this community. Keep on commenting too!
( Read more... )

As much as I'm glad to have moved on, sometimes I stop myself and go "Dude, I used to work for LiveJournal. That's so cool!" (I'm a sucker, I caved in and bought the LJ book.)


And so this isn't a completely useless post...

( for futurama fans ... cut just cuz it's a wide image )

card i did for Purr-fect kitty pet-sitting service



beast!





i'm going to do a 40 page A5 sketchbook then sell it to the highest bidder because i'm poor. who would pay the most/ who loves me the most?

This running thing kinda freaks me the fuck out. I just finished W2D2, and I find that I'm almost looking forward to running. What. The. Fuck?

So W2D2 was not appreciably easier than W2D1. The first couple of runs were easy, but the last couple were really tough. Based on that, I expect I'm probably going to have to hold myself back and do some week 2 summer school before I move on to week 3. I'm OK with that. I'm actually surprised I've gotten this far this quickly and remained in one piece. There was almost no dizziness this time.

BTW, I'm posting this largely so that I have a record of it, but also so that y'all can keep me honest-- if I don't post anything about running for a while, feel free to chime in and ask me what's up with that. You are my collective conscience. I certainly don't mind advice and applause, but don't feel obligated to reply just because I finished another run.

I have a dirty little secret-- I'm a sucker for an Egg McMuffin. That would largely be a bit of theoretical data, since I'm rarely up and about during McD's breakfast hours, but my boss has recently scheduled a 9:30 meeting every Monday morning. That means I have to roll out of bed about two hours earlier than usual if I want to be on time. There happens to be a McDonalds across the street from the office. You can see where this is going.

So last Monday I stumbled in, and amused myself with the collection of humanity that is drawn to mickey doodles at 9:20 a.m. on a Monday. There was a woman about my size in line in front of me, and I got to overhear her order-- a two-burrito breakfast combo with a large orange juice, plus a sausage, egg and cheese McGriddle. I just assumed she was ordering for two people, and thought nothing of it. However, my McBreakfast was slow in arriving, so I got to watch her pick up the order, sit down, and start eating it all by herself. My portion size buttons got pushed.

Curiosity got the best of me, and I checked the nutrition information for the meal. Sausage breakfast burritos are 300 calories each, and the combo meal has two. Hash browns are 150. A large OJ is 250. So right here we're up to a thousand calories, or approximately half her daily caloric requirement. The McGriddle is another 560 calories, bringing us just over three fourths of her day's requirement.

The RDA for sodium in the US is a maximum of 2400mg. In the UK, it's 1600. This breakfast came in at 3340. And yes, I'm aware that an Egg McMuffin has 820mg of sodium. The fat content of her meal is pretty bad too-- I see 73 grams of fat, which is over the RDA maximum of 65.

I'll be the first to point out that I'm not the sanest, healthiest eater in the world-- I was in McDonalds too, after all. So yes, pots and kettles. Still, I try to be sane about portion sizes and pay at least a little bit of attention to what I eat. When I was done with my breakfast that day I'd consumed 450 calories, which is less than one third of the above-mentioned person. Maybe she knew what she was doing, and made a conscious decision to eat like that, but I'm guessing not.

Her behavior is far too common-- I see people order and eat like this all the time. How did we as a country wind up thinking that eating like this is normal?

I decided that today was a running day. I finished the last day of week one last time, and I was sort of undecided between repeating that day again, or moving on to W2D1. I had strong arguments for both sides of the equation, so I did the only logical thing-- I tossed a coin to see whether I'd stay put or move up.

I just finished W2D1. The last half of the run was work, and the last run of the set was really hard work, but I managed to get through it. Man oh man am I out of shape, but I'm less so than I was a month ago. Up and to the right.

The light-headedness is still there, but it's not nearly as bad as it was before. I think reducing the BP medication made a difference. I'm also noticing less dizziness when I stand up during the day. All in all, a net win. Hell, the mere fact that I am not dead from teh runningz is a great start.

It seems that OKCupid has a new toy, wherein they tell you what states and countries you have the best and worst matches in. I wasn't the least bit surprised by my state results:

Worst:

Arkansas -- 64.3
Mississippi -- 64.8
Alabama -- 65.1
Wyoming -- 65.4
Tennessee -- 65.6

Best:

Massachusetts -- 74.9
Vermont -- 74.4
Oregon -- 74.2
Washington -- 73.1
Maryland -- 72.9

It seems I don't get along all that well with the south. Go figure. The countries were a little bit more surprising:

Worst:

Pakistan -- 48.6
Saudi Arabia -- 49.8
Egypt -- 50.6
Kenya -- 51.8
Indonesia -- 55.0

Best:

Switzerland -- 78.8
Austria -- 78.5
Israel -- 78.0
Sweden -- 77.5
Iceland -- 77.3

Israel? ISRAEL?! Umm, no.

Remember my recent polls about phone books? I must be a visionary. I found this on SFGate today:

Under legislation they hope to take to Sacramento in January, state Sen. Leland Yee, D-San Francisco, and Millbrae Councilwoman Gina Papan would bar phone companies from producing and distributing White Pages unless people choose to receive it.

Read more: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/10/29/BALL1ACEQ8.DTL#ixzz0VOl6AOON

I have been meaning to write about this for a while, since one day this spring when the memories of this time of my life came crushing back to me. I've almost never talked about it in my adult life - not for any drama, not for any deep, dark secrets, but... perhaps out of habit. Out of muscle memory for the painful, pointless, adolescent embarrassment that the period coincided with. I can't say. I do think it's time to exorcise it, though, and to make it mine. So onward.

Despite growing up in Alaska, or perhaps because of it, my mother made every effort to raise her children with a musical education. Piano lessons began at around age eight, if I recall correctly. I think it was age eight, because trumpet began when they let you start playing in the band in elementary school, which was fourth grade, or age nine. And piano came first.

I loved piano, but there were a dearth of piano teachers in Fairbanks, and mine, though she was wonderful, was classically focused. Some of this was necessary, as a student learns the basics. I banged and pounded my way through Hanon's warm-up exercises and various etudes and simple piano pieces. I say "banged and pounded," since nuance and dynamics were not things that were of interest to me. This extended to school band, where I chose the trumpet, originally, simply by putting my lips to it and unleashing a godawful squaawk! and thinking "Yeah. This is the instrument for me."

The classical foundation was, of course, necessary, but I was much more interested in learning to play the synth parts of the various pop songs and the ricky, meaty ten finger chords from the piano ballads I heard on the radio. My piano teacher, Mrs. Wallace, resisted these urges. (Later, much later, my teacher would take a two-fold approach to a compromise - letting me play some cheesy piano ballad whose score I had picked up at the local music store, in exchange for consenting to play more classical fare. She's worked around my hopeless lack of dynamics by selecting musicians who fared well under my pounding fists - most notably the Russians such as Rachmaninoff, and some of the more contemporary classical composers such as Alberto Ginestera - a pounder's paradise if ever there were one on the keys.)

But, alas again, that was later. Much later. Nearly ten years later. In the intervening years, my urge to play other forms of music was almost completely unfulfilled, save for the occasional aforementioned pop music scores I'd find at Music Mart. These, however, only went so far when you had a full rehearsal docket of Brahms and Handel, as well as a practice card for band requiring five 30 minute practice sessions a week, to be signed off on by a parent, as well as classwork, and never mind playing doctor with the neighborhood girls. Not having someone to teach me and coach me through Lionel Ritchie's "Say You, Say Me" or Bruce Hornsby's "The Way It Is" made it even more impossible.

Years of frustration went by. Actually, I could do the math. From age 8 to age 13. Five years. No pop music issuing forth from my desperately modernist fingers. And then, somehow, my mother alighted on the solution.

The origins are murky, though of course, now, I realize that my mother probably always had this planned. She had, after all, set me on this musical path - she played the piano and sang in the choir and taught me all about everything from Ralph Von Williams to Bob Dylan before I made it to Kindergarten. By the time I was thirteen, though, I probably thought it was my idea to go to the University of Alaska Summer FIne Arts Camp, having gone through some fairly painful Alaskan-style summer camps, the stories of which are for another day. Wherever the idea came from, however, I can say with confidence that upon my first year of summer fine arts camp, my life was changed for good.

The memories of it are totally murky, and since they came rushing back to me this spring, I have been trying to piece them together. I went to the camp for four summers. I think. Maybe five. These were the summers of my adolescence, and there was so much change through the years that it's almost impossible to recall anything in a coherent series of events.

First, there were the musicians. Musicians from all over the state. This was something of a shock. There was band, of course, at your school, so you knew the other trumpet players you sat with and competed with for first chair, and the cute flautists and clarinetists that you had crushes on, born in exotic locations outside the state or raised by mysterious, disciplinarian parents who insisted their Korean, Sikh or Hatian offspring be the best. And there were adjudications, for piano, throughout the years previous - once or twice-annually affairs where all the piano students in the city of Fairbanks gathered at the public library to play on one of the three good pianos in the town - a Bosendorfer - while some out-of-state adjuticator passed judgement on your playing (curiously, this is where I finally learned about my lack of dynamic sense, and became acutely embarrassed by it, despite years of my teachers pleadings to learn pianissimo. Somehow the outside critique stung more). But aside from these, musicians in alaska were in a bubble. You got the sense there weren't many of them around.

So to arrive at Fine Arts Camp and discover trombonists and timpani players and harpists and jazz bassoonists - it really was eye opening. Reassuring. Overwhelming. Welcoming. Scary. Amazing.

I remember walking into one of my group piano classes (group piano class?? who knew there was such a thing!), and some precocious, snooty 14 year old I had never seen before (she was home schooled) was playing, perfectly, the theme song to a recent film, composed by an 80's one hit wonder I had liked (okay, okay, it was Lihmal's theme to "Never Ending Story"). Who was this person? Where did she come from? How did she manage to learn this song? Where did she even get the score from? She was one of many. Cool veterans of fine arts camp studiously scoring their own arrangements of new wave hits in advance arranging classes. Glockenspiel players! Glockenspiel!

Then there were the classes and the teachers. I remember learning what the 12 bar blues were and feeling forever changed. I didn't even like jazz, but just understanding such a basic, primal structure to so much music was incredibly powerful. Learning improvisation techniques - something so important to my thinking about music now, but heretofore completely unheard of. Improvise? You're kidding, right? You follow the score, you follow it exactly, and the if the piece is supposed to last 3:15 in the Glenn Gould version, then by god, you better be close to 3:15. But here, suddenly, were dozens of different teachers, styles and techniques. I took a classical malleted instruments class. Jazz improvisation - every year. Rock Piano (on Fender Rhodeses - my first introduction to such a heavenly instrument). I learned to play the harmonica. I expanded my trumpeting into jazz trumpet. I took my first guitar lesson - and hated it (guitar wouldn't hold appeal to me until I discovered the bliss of delay and fuzz). It was an unending smorgasborg of eye-opening musical magic. Marimbas. Vibraphones. Farfisas.

And then! And then! Let us not forget the name - this was Summer Fine Arts Camp, not Summer Music Camp. The music curriculum was just part of the fun. There were photography classes - I first learned to use a darkroom in my time here. For as much as my mother was a music buff, my father was a photography buff, and bought me my first Pentax K1000 when I was 11. It was here, though, that I truly began to understand the device's mechanics and the full process (I had always sent my film away previously). And print making classes - something I could never quite get the hang of, much to my consternation later in life. And Macintoshes! I first discovered the joy of Photoshop at Summer Fine Arts Camp. Painting. Figure drawing. Pastels (I loved pastels - I was such a pussy). There was so much.

And the other attendees... well, what can I say? Essentially every artist from 13 to 18 in the State of Alaska, all in one place. Along with innumerable student performances throughout the months, they had three student dances as well - social gatherings. The few times I've thought of Summer Fine Arts Camp through the years, this is the part that I almost always thought of. I made my first friends here that were anything like me. They changed my life. They gave me my life.

It was here, in the summer of 1985, that I first heard Peter Hook's haunting falsetto refrain that permeates New Order's "Temptation." I can still remember the first time I heard it, and I can still feel the reaction I had to it. I had heard nothing like it in my life. It's still a remarkable work, but then, in Alaska, it was unbelievable. Thinking back on it, it boggles my mind that this even happened - "Temptation" came out in 1982 or so, and somehow, in three years, it had found its way halfway across the world to Fairbanks, Alaska, to become a dance hit, unaided by the internet, New Music Express, radio airplay, MTV or even a halfway decent record store. I usually think of my friends at Fine Arts Camp as being older than me, and therefore "in the know," but it is really amazing how they found out about all this music so quickly. It was here I also learned about Joy Division, Depeche Mode, Tones on Tail (though not Bauhaus or Love and Rockets, which I had learned about in church, weirdly), and so much more. Billy Idol. The B52s. Roxy Music. Through my four or five years attending camp, the dances became, literally, the highlights of my year.

And it was here that a girl first ever told me she liked me. I still shudder at how terrifying and confusing it all was. I had had a crush on her for ages, but was a typical adolescent male, unable to think straight or see past my own nose. It was only when she explicitly, undeniably told me that she liked me that it started to click. It was not my first kiss, but it was the first I can ever remember. I doubt the girl, who went on to become a famous cheerleader in our district, even remembers it. I doubt she remembers me, but she changed my life.

So many memories blow by. I grew up at this camp, but time has blended the years together. Playing video games at the student union. Sitting in the seats of the giant concert hall (oh, man, what was it called? I will have to look it up. Oh, got it. The Charles W Davis Concert Hall), watching my flute playing crush practice in the symphony. Glowing with pride and embarrassment when she'd wave from the stage. Seeing my friend Dylan arrange and score New Order's "Elegia" and watching him conduct a string quartet as they played it. The choral practice room (oh man! I forgot! I sang in choirs there too! Church choirs. Jazz choirs. Doo wop. Everything I could get my hands on). Learning that the choral room was named after my father's godmother. The dances in the Great Hall. Learning the drum parts to Soft Cell's "Tainted Love/Where Did Our Love Go" that we just HAD to hear, in its entirety, at every dance. The dark rooms. The printmaking studio. Sitting out by the fountain, everyone trying to look cool, desperately wanting to meet everyone but too cool to admit it, or just too scared.

Years later, in college, I went home for the summer. I met a girl. I fell in love instantly. She went to another school, in another district. When I worked up the gumption to finally talk to her, she said, "I remember you. I was three years younger in Fine Arts Camp and I had the hugest crush on you." I met her at the campgrounds above the university. We walked down to the camp, which was in session. People remembered me, people remembered her. Their approval of me sealed my fate as an acceptable prospect for her to date for the summer. If the camp people thought you were okay, you were okay.

What amazes me now, thinking back, is how much of my life was influenced by this camp, and yet how little I think of it, and how I never pieced it together through the years. It just sits there, in the back of my mind, like your mother's care or the town you grew up in - something so intrinsic to your being that it's hard to even call it an influence. And it amazes me to think about all of this going on in Fairbanks, Alaska. When people ask me what it was like growing up there, I inevitably talk about the cold, the pain, the loneliness, the dark, the misery. But what were all these artists doing there? Hundreds of art students in a city of less than 30,000. How is it anyone in Alaska knew about the Smiths in 1986? Or the Cure, before Kiss Me? Who brought these things there? I don't think I'll ever know, but I do know that it was Summer FIne Arts Camp that brought them to me.

 

Official Rules & Regulations

of the “CSI: Deadly Intent” Promotion

 

 

( CSI: Deadly Intent Promotion Rules and Regulations )

 

 

</div>

In response to user comments from last week, we want to let you know that we'll remain LJ cut-free for the next month in order to get more eyeballs on our evolving newsletter. As for product coverage, that continues to be our top priority. For more granular detail, however, we recommend you join lj_releases.

Super-tweak for Yandex search

Some of our beta testers expressed privacy concerns using the Yandex search engine. Here's why: Last week, when you ran a search, you could see the usernames (and only the usernames) of everyone who commented on an entry, even if that entry was switched to Private or Friends Only after it was originally indexed. You could NOT see the actual comments from Friends Only or Private posts. In response to your input, we've implemented a fix to keep all user activity currently marked Friends Only or Private completely hidden. If you'd prefer your public content not to be indexed by Yandex, click here and use the settings labeled Search Inclusion (this covers your entire journal) and/or Comment Search Inclusion (which covers comments only). To test drive Yandex search now, click here.

Postcards from the edge

Several years ago, we asked LiveJournal users to send postcards to help us decorate our dull, white-washed offices. Since a good idea warrants repetition, we're at it again (same issue, new address). We hope you'll surround us with LiveJournal love by sending your postcards to Frank the Goat, Esq., c/o LiveJournal, Inc., 539 Bryant Street, Suite 210, San Francisco, CA 94107. We'll post snapshots right here. Be sure to include your username, since we'll randomly pick 10 lucky recipients to win free paid account time.

Conquer Writer's Block

Here are some excerpts from this week's most popular question of the day:

If a friend or relative makes a racist or homophobic remark, do you tend to confront them or let it slide? Are you more likely to confront them if it offends you directly or someone else who seems reluctant to speak up?

1. I find it easier to stand up for other people, and i wouldn't let it slide if they made a rude or hurtful comment.
2. Usually if a friend makes a racist or homophobic remark, I tend to let it slide. I think that while i would not say such things myself, I have no right to censor those around me.
3. This happens all of the time. I confront some relatives, but I refuse to if they are drunk or watch Fox News.
4. I'd let it slide if it was just a private remark... As much as I despise bigotry and intolerance, I know that you can't change people-they have to change themselves ...
5. Confront! confront! confront! Politely, but without equivocation.
6. SPEAK UP. Always, always, always speak up. Letting something slide lets ignorance win. No matter if it offends me directly, or someone else, I will confront the speaker and let them know that's not ok.
7. I don't get offended personally. As an immigrant, woman, gay and person of color if I took every single potentially offensive remark seriously I wouldn't get anything done.
8. I punch them in the balls. With my mind.
9. I do speak up, but often very timidly because I feel that I'm white and therefore I don't really have any authority to lecture someone on what's racist and what isn't...
10. Generally speaking, I do not let this shit fly, because it reduces me as a person, to this non-person and it replicates the destructive discourse that makes sure that sexual minorities, racial minorities, women, people with disabilities, trans people and every intersection thereof into something other than human... And sometimes... I'm just too tired to deal with it, so I roll my eyes, make a sarcastic remark and hope the conversation moves on quickly.

For more daily questions and user comments, join writersblock. FYI, we don't want to invade your privacy, so we haven't credited individual users for their responses. We'd appreciate your feedback on this!

Spotlight community of the week

We can't resist making one last midnight trip to the ol' pumpkin patch. If you adore crazy costumes, fiendish festivities, and bottomless candy consumption as much as we do, this community has just what it takes to light up your jack-o-lantern.


halloween_fan

Photos of the week

We received so many incredible photos, we had to close our eyes and point. We uploaded a selection of awesome images at our new lj_photophile community. Please join and start posting (try to keep the width at around 625 for the sake of consistency)! We'd love for you to tell us more about your photos! You can help us select spotlight photos by commenting on your favorites. Once again, we thank you for making our online world more beautiful!

shutter	pancetta	ilya_gorokhov

Curtains

Thanks, again, for tuning in. We look forward to seeing you next week.

I called my doctor this morning, and explained what was happening.

"You're taking (dose X)?"

"Yep."

"Cut 'em in half. We'll check your blood pressure when you come in."

That's precisely what I expected him to say. In fact, I was >< this close to just doing it without his authorization, but I knew he'd be happier about it if I asked first.