Says it all.

"Better the slowest runner than the fastest walker."
"Llamas and gourd art"
"Men don't appreciate women who call them on their shit."

***

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Stupid doesn't pay. It gets paid.

Which could be considered cool by stupid people still mulling my first point, which is: Stupid doesn't pay.

'If I'm stupid, I don't have to pay. I get in free! And, I get paid. Yuh huh!" she said (point away from self).

The thing is, stupid people make us pay: Climate change. Octuplets. Anti-blowgun laws. They're stupid. But we pay.

So really, I'm wondering: Who's stupid? Who's the stupid one? Because I thought it was that guy, but apparently, he's got me paying his tab.

Whaa?

I don't want to pay for him. I don't want to buy hipwaders, or anti-blowdart toxin, or sharpie pens so he can make Obama look like a Hawaiian/African-American Hitler. But I see these people on TV, on YouTube, on Twit -- uh, that's Twitter to y'all -- and then I see a commercial and I realize that they think I'm stupid, too.

Like Brooke Shields. I wanted to like you, Brooke, with your quirky unapproachability and your thighs that don't meet at the top, but now, but NOW, Brookie, you're hawking prescription medication that makes eyelashes grow faster.

Eyelashes!

Now, it's my belief that if a scientist can isolate the gene, or stimulate the follicle that adds an extra eighth of a millimeter to my undergrown eyelid fringe, couldn't that scientist, or those scientists, maybe have a shot at isolating the gene, or stimulating nerve that inhibits cancer growth? Shouldn't those scientists feel a little ashamed of themselves, a little underwhelmed with their career path, a little, dare I say it, stupid?

(And how much do those pills cost, anyway? Are they covered under single payer?)

Ultimately, the scariest part is that stupid people know how to breed. Sarah Palin's got five kids and a grandkid already. Hell, Octomom didn't even have a boyfriend -- apparently, in a pinch, a stupid-ass hyperfertility doctor will do.

Can't we send these people to school, instead? My dad, himself not a dummy, always says "time spent pursuing education is never wasted." College costs money, but in the long run, doesn't it better benefit one's immediate and outlying community?

Plus, then, stupid genes might start hooking up with smarter genes, allowing patterns of dullness and density to be erased, or at least subverted.

I met my husband when we were co-panelists at a conference of graduate students for English, and our first-born was reciting the alphabet at 20 months. Coincidence? I don't think so.

Undent the circle of life.

Plus, as I said, college costs money. You gots to pay to play.

So pay up, dumbass.

... is that you spend some time on it, and then you're maybe halfway through your first quiz -- no; you've just finished taking the quiz and have/not invited other FB "friends" to take it -- and pow, it loads four out of five items but never loads the rest, and hangs, and you have to hit "reload," which sometimes works and sometimes doesn't. And you get a little angry that you can't see your quiz result, or that you had to reload the page. And then you feel a gnaw of self-disgust for caring about the thing in the first place.

Sorry I haven't written but things have been massively busy out here. Last Monday, my mom broke her hip. Not the best Columbus Day as ever was. She's doing well at the rehab center, which is the only reason why you're reading about it here.

Sorry if you're one of the people I should have emailed about it. Last Monday was also Day One of two that Monstro was going to crank out his MLA job-list applications. Mail merge, letters, labels, cv, stuff, more stuff, stuff it in an envelope and then fill out the certified mail with return receipt postcard forms and paperclip each one individually and take them to the post office and spend so much time there with Postman Tyrone that you're building as much of a relationship as you have with (pretty much) anyone here.

It is amazing that in this time of recession, there are nearly fifty job opportunities for (tenure-track) professorships for Monstro, and he's such a smart cookie that it feels like God has filled us with everything and now it's just up for one (or two) esteemed colleges (in places where it doesn't snow seems almost like asking too much, especially with only one job, period, in California) to recognize his (His) gifts.

So this is where Motormouth (non-parenthetically) thanks Jesus for the solid.

In my free time, I've taken Lex candlepin bowling, have determined my art project's scope and format to make good on my promise to published-poet Anne, and set up a Wordpress blog at ListenToEd.com as my father's 70th birthday gift; he didn't find out about it until he received the ListenToEd.com business cards via snail-mail, courtesy of moi via VistaPrint.

My father is the man who has pretty much everything, so when he calls a gift you've given him "fucking priceless," you can consider that to be a massive score: Motormouth, FTW!

Can this week be over yet? Preferably WITHOUT snow? Thank you.

I think it shows the increasing depth of my training that I haven't even logged my last four runs. Last Tuesday I hit a milestone -- I ran for the fun of running. I powered up the big hill at Smith and let out an amusing-to-passersby war whoop at the top. BK and I ran and ran and ran. Such a blast.

The next day I ran, too... but where? Don't remember.

Saturday I didn't run, but I hosted a baby shower here, and probably did 2.5-3.0 miles from the living room to the kitchen and back.

This week on Monday I showed up early to preschool pick-up, in hopes of running the track. Selfishly, the track was closed to everyone not on a collegiate track team. So I ran a two-mile loop around part of the campus. Very satisfying, particularly as the last time I ran on the dirt part, I had to stop to walk three times! This time, I ran it and its distance again, without stopping.

Tuesday I planned to have lunch with a friend, so I ran into town. Literally. The fortuitious part was, I started late and couldn't use my more scenic route, but my typically busy street was having its bike-lane markers repainted, so there were pylons stretched the length of my run.

When I shared this with my friend, she said, "Like you were in your own personal 10K!" Kris is so funny, I love her. Plus, she doesn't mind if her lunch date is actively perspiring until the food comes.

No running yesterday, but I did listen to a congested BK holler all day (no naps!), which kept my muscles tense, if not engaged.

Got this from a close buddy via email today: ...firmly in the dark side of my 3rd decade, I have come to reflect on my luck and good fortune to have such a good friend.

Awww! Thanks & I'm glad you enjoyed your birthday gifts!

Not only did I get BK to self-soothe himself to sleep, but the Gartner quote approval came in at 8:20 and I was able to get it added to the press release I'd scheduled for 10:00 publication.

The funny thing is, I always (like, every single time) schedule press releases at 9:00 a.m., but yesterday the thought came into my head to try 10:00 publication, instead. It was the only reason why I was able to get the quote added. Amazeballs.

Press release here. Thank you, Jesus. I owe you one.... or 23,000,001. Who's counting?

He's still waking up in the middle of the night, and during the day he'll sleep for 10 minutes and then scream for 30. Suggestions?

Some are old and recently downloaded from my bluetooth-enabled phone, others are more recent. Enjoy!

A pretty equal split of running and walking today, with some good distance for good measure. I hadn't planned to go as far as I did, but halfway through the BK fell asleep and I wanted to prolong his nap as much as possible. Every day makes me a little more frantic that this warm weather's going to leave soon and we'll be left with snow. I think I seriously need to consider some cross-country ski options. Wonder if I could make that work with the Super Jogger stroller?

A great run today. I'm walking on concrete but running on asphalt. Was out for 1.25 hours, and for the first time since this all began, today when I started getting tired, instead of slowing down, I sped up. Fantastic. I feel strong and alive! Also, I figured out how to get the farmshare produce home on the jogging stroller without displacing BK. Take that, physics!

Haven't posted a training log -- or, for that matter, anything -- lately; it's just that it's been so damn busy around here I hardly can manage to breathe. Or maybe that's just the autumnal leaf mildew. Either way, it's wicked hectic.

Most of the busy-ness has taken place outside the home, so I wrote big checks to babysitters four days in a row. Friday night's Oktoberfest in Springfield was ganz wunderbar; the oompah band was astounding and played my favorite song from when I was two: "It's a Small World After All." Had a bordering-on-naughty repartee (having to do with Schlag) with the hunky German managing the on-site chefs. The Student Prince food was amazing -- fried camembert, anyone? -- and the beer was Spaten Optimator, which is pretty much all I need to say about that. I had looked up the German word for "bitches" but was not given the opportunity to use it, though my talk with Herr Schlagmann had me blushing for an hour. Then, we went back to our friend Chris's house in Agawam and played Beatles Rock Band, which is going to be THE must-have game of the season. You can connect three microphones to it for harmonizing. Astounding. It has "Dear Prudence" and "All You Need is Love," but not "Penny Lane." Unfortunately, it does have "Yellow Submarine," which for me is the song version of llamas or gourd art.

Saturday was World Dungeons and Dragons Day, so most of our cohort met up at the local comix shop and participated in the festivities of the holiday. First we created an adventure, and then we played the adventure made up by another group. I ate too much junk food and had a marvelous time.

Sunday I went on a butt-kicking run with the BK, then Bible study (we've picked up where we left off: the book of Revelation), then MORE D&D with our crew for our regularly scheduled, Monstro-run adventure. I killed, rather, Isdra the Deva Bard, killed herself a mess o'minions. Quite satisfying.

And then yesterday, Monday, I did some brilliant work for one client and no work for another. Some days, that's how it goes. Nevertheless, it's time to get back on the horse/stick/moneytrain, so ttfn, Weibchen. :)

Jason: Another evening of enforced relaxation, thanks to my bum leg.
Motormouthdotcom: Better a bum leg than a hobo elbow.

Because it ain't great at the fair where the rides are, but it's not exactly hell, either. Though this was the sketchiest midway I'd attended, and yeah, I've seen a few. Not enough to qualify for carny status but even so. Lex was excited to ride the rides and was not happy when it was time to go. He didn't like the fried dough, so his indoctrination into the supreme yumminess of Fair Food must wait another year, or at least until The Big E, which starts, I think, this week.

Anyway, if you want to know about the socio-physiological aspects of the reminds-me-of-a-dirt-mall Franklin County Fair, Monstro'll be happy to elucidate. As for me, well, we got out of the house on a beautiful warm afternoon, Lex and BK had a blast, and we spent just under fifty bucks for the entire excursion, which isn't bad considering before we'd even entered the gates we'd confirmed the existence of our awesome God.

I'm just glad I didn't have to ride a Ferris wheel or see any llamas.

Please, caffeine, work your magic!

9/11/2001

New York City Shuts Down

The whole of lower Manhattan is coated in half an inch of dust.

The mayor closed lower Manhattan this morning.
Thousands of people left by walking across the Brooklyn Bridge.
Election called off, airports closed, Wall Street suspended, UN evacuated,
Children kept in school because their parents could not get to them.

The entire ER entrance was lined with stretchers covered with white sheets.
Nurses in scrubs. Doctors in uniforms,
waiting for the next wave
At St. Vincent's Hospital in the Greenwich Village.

Hundreds of people are burned from head to toe.
Remain calm and try to assist in the rescue effort and pray,
Have these streets open so we can move people out of there.
The line to give blood was over 100 people long.

Hanging up in frustration at the profusion of busy signals
According to a spokesman, who declined to give his name.
Bob Slovak said all subway lines stopped running,
and Rockefeller Center urged its tenants to go home.

-- Found in "New York City Shuts Down," Associated Press Report, The New York Times Online: 09/11/2001, 10:00 a.m. PDT. Poem copyright 2001-2009, Lynn B. Johnson. All rights reserved.

Running madness today with BK in the Super Jogger: walking, running distance, running hills, running speedwork (5x60, 1x100) and running home. Got home right as Monstro and Lex were unbundling themselves from the car. Great timing, great run!

I just came back home after buying a bunch of clothes that are two sizes smaller than the clothes I wore when I started running. Hellz yeah!

LifeLock has a new banner ad -- have you seen it? It's got a hyper-realistic-to-the-point-of-3D photo of a dead fly. Probably the only non-sexual banner ad offensive enough to make me close my browser window. Stupid assholes; now I have to re-login to my Rhythmball mail.

On May 18, 2009, according to my writings on the world's oldest blog, I became a runner again. I went to the track at another local college and ran a mile (and walked a mile). The next day, I ran a mile and walked a half-mile. It wasn’t until day three that I started my speedwork.

warm-up: 400m
work-out: 6x60m, 1x100m
cool-down: chasing children back down the hill; encouraging Lex not to push babykins's stroller into the high hurdles


It felt damn good to do speedwork again, and, now that I think about it, I need to do more of it. Maybe once a week.

Like my life, I tracked my runs on my blog. If you search “training log” on motormouth.blogharbor.com, you’ll get 27 search results. That doesn’t count the first one; that one’s not called a training log because I wasn’t ready to smack a title on it yet, but it does list two workouts, plus a third in the pool. And I probably forgot to track one more at some point this summer, so I figure I ran 30 times between 5/20/2009 and 9/9/2009, which becomes the fraction 30/120 and reduces to a quarter of those days.

I could beat someone in a race now, which is saying something, because I ran a "Four [miles] on the Fourth" on Independence Day and came in dead last.

(Also, my race report wasn't titled "training log" so there, it's more than a quarter.)

Let me live up to my title. Before we left for California, I’d lost 5 pounds. Doesn’t sound like much, five pounds between late-May and early August, but a lot of underlying fat turned to muscle, and anyone who’s EVER been on a diet knows that muscle weighs more. Besides, I prefer to go by how my clothes fit (because scales make me crazy). Today I I wore my used-to-be-too-tight bra on the tightest row of hooks and it felt just fine all day; I wasn't even aware of it.

Changing into my lounge clothes tonight, I stood before my standing floor-length mirror. My waist, while not perfectly defined, is at least definable. I think I can flaunt that part of me a bit, to keep the gazes from my sagging, jowly lower belly, left over from the birth of nearly 18 pounds of children.

I’m down to just one roll of back-fat, and, the middle of my lower back would now look just as good with a tramp stamp as anyone’s lower-middle-back would (yes, that's a different question for another time).

To sum up: my clothes that were too small on May 18th fit me now. My clothes that were too small on June 18th fit me now. And the afternoon of my 20th high-school reunion I had to go shopping at Nordstrom because the dress I'd brought didn't fit: like papa bear's chair, it was too big. In total, I lost two sizes but found a half-size of that back because California was superfun and coming home sucked. Even so, I’m looking better than before and almost pretty good. And not as much of that is due to the obtuse angle I’ve set my full-length mirror to; in fact, the mirror is closer to straight-up-and-down as it’s ever been.

And, I’m nearly almost out of the true fat sizes and within satellite range of shopping somewhere they don't sell capris, which are the fashion industry's nod toward our pudgy-girl kickiness but really just make us look dumpy.

-ier?

So yeah, I'm motivated. For lots of reasons. I don’t want to buy any more fat clothes. My hatchling cheekbones are beginning their extrusion process. (A make-up woman at Macy’s once told me, “you got some bones, girl.” That was when I lost 20 pounds about 18 years ago.)

I want to keep going with this, because I’m staring seven months of winter snow in the face and one thing I’ve never learned how to do is run on a treadmill. Done it twice, crashed spectacularly twice, and not certain what to do to get back up on that horse and fucking stay there already.

And also, in my 20s, I ran for the Sun Microsystems corporate track team, the memories of which are some of my fondest, in particular the meet that started with my first women’s cross-country race, which I won.

I didn’t run today, breaking a four-day streak. Instead, I took the boys to lunch at Friendly’s and my gastrointestinal distress started exactly 57 minutes after I signed the debit-card slip. Though I didn’t run, I had the runs, which in my estimation should count for at least something, being so close logos-istically and all.

Ultimately, I’m going to run through at least the autumn, because it feels good to have to buy a new pair of running shoes because you’ve blown out your old pair by running, and Massachusetts isn’t exactly totally miserable when the leaves change. And if that isn’t enough, I’ll remember back to my first speedwork on May 20th, one-hundred-twenty days ago, During my final repeat, the hundred-meter dash:

Lex screamed, "Mommy, you go so fast!" And then, when I was done, he gave me a big hug and said, "I proud of you, Mommy." Melt my effin' heart.

That, my children, is what you call fat-mom motivation. Especially when I’m reading a Runner’s World magazine and he points to a picture of woman running and says she looks like me.

How about: If you're on Medicare, you don't get to bitch about the Federal healthcare plan. OK?

Today after the "nanny" (her paycheck isn't lofty but her job title is) left, I bundled BK into the Super Jogger and thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be great if I could run the long way all the way to the Farmer's Market?" So we turned right instead of left and ran around the defunct car dealership to the bike path, all the way up the bike path to the hobo-stab-insurance underpass, then out into the bright light of day and through the streets to the place where the elite meet to buy stuff to eat. Ran every step. BK was most impressed.

I'd brought a green fabric bag from my local supermarket, so I could load up my farmshare items into the bag and then tie the bag to the crosshandle of the Super Jogger. Great idea for truly green shopping, right? Right, up until I saw the contents of the box and the market helper loaded my fruits and veggies into the bag.

The farmshare was particularly prolific this week. Once I tied the bag handles to the stroller handle, I realized that I had been fazed by physics: namely, how to keep a Super Jogger baby stroller upright with a 24-lb. infant on one side of the fulcrum and a 30-lb. bag of locavore organic vegetables on the other side of the fulcrum.

The answer: walk home, very careful to push the handle/fulcrum UP the whole way, thereby preventing BK from tipping ass-over-teakettle.

Happy ending: No babies or vegetables were harmed in the makings of this blog post.

Well, just because I went to an awesome barbeque (thanks Chris&Dave&Brandon) doesn't mean I didn't run. No, sir. I ran half a mile. Sure, it was to the convenience store and back, to pick up some cool-ranch Doritos and a bottle of seltzer and a half-gallon of ice cream and some Junior Mints to mix into said ice cream, but I ran, nonetheless.

Road-running today, pushing BK in our Super Jogger. Total distance: 3 miles, with massive hills. Huah!

Road-running today: 1.2 miles around my friend's neighborhood, with a .2 mile walk cooldown.

My preferred grocery store can't sell beer and wine, but the new gas station down the street can.

ran 1200
ran 400
walked 800
ran 400
walked 400

Felt surprisingly good, particularly as I was up with the screaming-bloody-murder BK in the middle of the night and up with both kids at 6:40 this morning.

My best friend from grad school and matron of honor Anne Jennings Paris has a book of poetry coming out later this year. Titled Killing George Washington: The American West in Five Voices, it is "a collection of narrative poems [that] imagines the voices of the forgotten historical figures of Lewis Wetzel, a notorious Indian killer; York, the slave who accompanied Lewis and Clark; Charity Lamb, Oregons first convicted murderess; Ing Hay, a Chinese immigrant who made a name for himself as a doctor; and Mary Colter, an architect who helped shaped the western landscape."

You can pre-order your copy from Powell's Books. You can also pre-order it online from Barnes & Noble, but wouldn't you rather support Powell's? Yeah, I thought so.

In any case, the book will be available for purchase on November 1st, just in time for all of your holiday gift-giving needs. Not to spoil the surprise, but I'll be buying copies for everyone I know.

So I posted one of those "how well do you know Motormouth" quizzes on Facebook, and every single person who has taken the quiz has answered that Motormouth thinks Infinite Jest is the one novel that everyone should read. I'm intrigued by that answer, because it's incorrect: I think everyone should read the Sebastien Japrisot novel A Very Long Engagement.

Why?

Well, don't get me wrong: Infinite Jest is a phenomenal work, a blow-your-balls-off novel, a combination of pathos and humor the likes of which we just don't see anymore. David Foster Wallace was a master of the English language (and, apparently, pharmacology), which adds up to a tremendous novel. It also paints portraits of addiction that are both tragic (Hal) and uplifting (Don). So yeah, I recommend it.

BUT...

Infinite Jest takes a major commitment on the part of the reader. The edition I read is 1,079 pages long. The last 96 pages are endnotes, so you're constantly flipping back and forth (finally, I secured two bookmarks: one to mark my place in the text, and the other to mark my place in the endnotes). Plus, it's really heavy and not very portable. These are important things to think about when you're also toting a couple of kids and a diaper bag and a bottle of water. You don't need to be reading a book that makes you feel even more like a sherpa.

Whereas...

A Very Long Engagement comes in around the 200-page mark, and so much is packed into those pages that every time I read it, I notice something new. It is the only book that ever made me cry before page 100. It is a phenomenal testament to the power of dogged investigation, and it's beautifully written, and we all should strive to be a little like Mathilde. Plus, you won't throw your back out if you carry it around.

Highly, highly recommended. xo, Motormouth

How wonderful it is to have family in town! We wandered around our downtown yesterday and then had yummy dinner, which Monstro had to leave halfway through because BK was NOT in the mood to hang out at a restaurant, thank you very much. Today we're off to the butterfly museum (live ones, not The Collector-style ones with pins through their abdomens), then it's lunch at the fondly named Nana's Restaurant, and who knows for the afternoon. Shall keep y'all posted. Wish you were here, MM

Floors mopped, bathroom scrubbed, bed made: it can only mean one thing... company's coming! Welcome to MA, Auntie Lynn and Uncle Lee! See you later today!

Tried to take both boys to the mall without or bodyguard, nanny, or other assistance. Big mistake. Then BK didn't sleep in the afternoon. I threw in the towel and took a nap -- wasn't much else I could do at that point. Cheers to Monstro for taking one for the team. Let's hope today is a better day. Of course, the nanny is coming for BK, and Lex is going to his nana's for the morning and lunchtime. I'll probably be cleaning the house. Whoo!

Babykins, heretonow known as BK around these parts, turned one year old today, which makes me happy, because it means that Monstro and I have kept yet another child alive for one entire year. It was pretty touch-and-go around the seven-month mark, what with getting up five times a night since his birth until then, but now, he is a sunny, happy baby, walking everywhere and worshipping the ground upon which his brother walks.

Happy birthday, BK. Mommy loves you!

"Turn to the centerfold. Then flip back about 50 pages to the Letters to the Editor, where my letter leads the section."

(Issue date September 2009, with Heidi Montag Pratt on the cover.)

They're afraid it's going to be the end of their all-paid-for happy pills and painkillers and pain crushers and pain get the fuck out of my body whilst I trip the light fantastic pills, which are what allows people to toe the party line in the first place.

And the country's old men are afraid that the government's going to know that they need pills to get hard. (Guess what, fellas? It already does.)

And our happy little haze of aren't we wonderful is going to crash from the sky like that plane over Lockerbie in 1988 whose bomber just got sent home from jail, which has me so, pissed, off. Even if they are calling it "compassionate grounds."

Oh, and the senators are stomping their little Gucci-toed feet because they're scared that if their constituents aren't stoned then we might actually show some signs of giving a rat's "feels like a snake tail" (thanks Lex) and holding them accountable by sending them to our overcrowded-but-at-least-they're-massively-expensive prisons, and they'll pay for the privilege of their stay.

Look: if you can't get decent medical care here, you can go somewhere to an equivocally suited hospital in another country and get it done there. I wrote about it for Wallet Blog a while ago. For me, the best medical care I ever received was in Germany. I didn't pay for it. Alex's stepmother got really sick in Scotland, was in hospital there for six months, and at the end of her treatment they wished her well and sent her on her merry way, fee-free. I got sick in France and an English-speaking doctor was AT MY FRIEND'S HOUSE at 9:30 on a Saturday, gave me a cursory exam in the living room, and sent me to the lab for tests. The lab was three blocks away, and also open on Saturday morning. Urinalysis results were back in an hour and I got a bottle of pills for it, which I (sing it with me now) did not have to pay for. I didn't pay a dime for any of it. Neither did my hosts.

So there you go. I want doctors to be compensated because it costs a shitload of money to get through undergrad and med school and believe me, $150K student loans are not an aberration to people in the medical field. I want no-hassle heath care and provisions and research for any family members with either progressive or terminal diseases.

France, Germany, and to the best of my knowledge, the UK and Canada have all this. And we are, as a country, WAY better than they are. We should have effing invented universal health care. Seriously, people.

Whatever. Your Mileage May Vary.

So, by the time I was done uploading pictures to cvs.com last night, it was about 11:30. This month's Playboy had arrived while I was on vacation so I took it out of its privacy wrap to read it in bed. Really wish I hadn't turned to the Playboy Advisor section first, because by the time I saw that my letter is the lead-off on the Letters to the Editor page, it was close to midnight.

I've wanted to see my name in Playboy forever, so this is truly a dream come true.

Now, if they'd only give me a monthly column, I'd be set.