grrgoyl | Entries tagged with biking

It's happened. I've become a bike snob. It's because when you're out there pedaling, there isn't a lot to think about except your fellow bikers. It was just a matter of time before I started judging everyone I see out there.

Cut in case you don't want to read how everyone sucks but me.

( ::People who don't wear helmets:: )

( ::People who pass you who probably shouldn't:: )

( ::People who don't fit their bikes:: )

( ::People who insist on taking up the whole path:: )

Alright, I'm done being a bitch. I suspect it won't be long before I start snapping at people for making U-turns half a mile ahead of me.

We had the best Fourth of July ever, because it rained almost the entire day and night. Good because it discouraged most of the asshole backyard displays. Good because the ground was nice and wet so we didn't mind the ones that did go off so much. Bad because it means the asshole backyard displays have plenty of left-overs to use the rest of the month.

I had hoped to go to Deer Creek Canyon today, but I learned my lesson about rainy weekends and dirt trails at Barr Lake. Plus I didn't relish the thought of dealing with a bunch of people taking a three-day weekend and flocking to parks statewide.

I hit Cherry Creek instead, and at first thought I'd regret my decision to stay home -- until I reached the side where the wetlands are, and a spot where the path was completely submerged by a 2-inch deep puddle that stretched for about 500 feet. Before realizing how deep it was, the first two pedal strokes sprayed water straight up my back to my neck. By the time that puddle was done with me, my shoes were soaked through to the skin. Which helped me cool down at least, but I get worried about negative effects on Rogue Leader's chain, etc.

If this was what a paved trail looked like, I couldn't imagine what a dirt trail had going on; I absolutely think I made the right decision to avoid it. For once.

Current Mood: bitchy
Current Music: Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies//tonguetied and twisted, just an earthbound misfit, I

To make up for my lackluster weekend previously, I was determined to have an adventure last Monday, so that's what I did. Ryan and I went to Waterton Canyon, and it was worth every minute.

Waterton Canyon has an old gravel mining road running through it, a steady climb uphill, but the lowest grade you can have and still be called a hill -- that is, until near the top, where it cruelly bends into about a 40% incline that neither of us cared to tackle for very long. Absolutely gorgeous scenery and hardly anyone else on the trail.

There was some urgency to get to Waterton -- it's a popular spot, and sadly scheduled to be closed for two years in August to dredge the South Platte River of its unacceptably high silt content. Typical, just as I discover this great place, I lose it again.

Anyway, some photos. They all looked sort of blah, despite being of breathtaking vistas, so I touched them up a bit with Photoscape, a surprisingly feature-packed program that's totally free and that I highly recommend to everyone.

Gorgeous. The scenery, not Ryan

I made this look like a postcard from the 70's

Yeah, the photoshopping isn't TOO obvious (note: not photoshopped with Photoscape)

A little tilt-shift effect here. Strontia Springs Dam. Why isn't there bottled water named after this?

Some antiquing. Those little rock-like formations square in the middle (behind the actual rock) are bighorn sheep. You'll just have to take my word

I didn't think Ryan was THAT out of shape, but I apparently "kicked his ass." Despite constant pleading to ride alongside me, he would hang back, even on the downhill. I'm never sure if it's because I'm going too fast (though literally I went down in my highest gear, pedaling as leisurely as I could and still stay upright) or because he needs some quality alone time -- or he's checking out my ass, which seems unlikely.

I got this book, "Mountain Biking Denver and Boulder," which lists 49 rides of varying difficulty. I scouted out possibilities for us, with an eye towards the easiest for Ryan. Have to keep reminding myself it's better than going alone.

A note on the thorn-resistant tube (henceforth known as "Thorny") -- performed like a champ, although this wasn't exactly rough terrain. I didn't feel the slightest difference in weight at Waterton. Different story on my return to Cherry Creek pavement. On the uphill it felt like I was totally bogged down, requiring a colossal effort to keep moving. So much so I spent the whole ride fantasizing about my lightweight standard tubes, wondering if maybe I could go back to one if the only culprit was the bit of wire I found.

I returned home determined to switch, but then reflected on the luxury of still having a firm, fully inflated tire after a whole week and decided against it. The next day I went out again and it was a little easier, so I think I made the right choice.

Speaking of weight, I compared Rogue Leader to Ryan's (nameless, not as loved) bike -- he also has a Specialized, though a much later model. It confirmed my fear that I have the heaviest bike in Denver, made back when they used cast iron reinforced with lead. Even Ryan was surprised at how much heavier it was. Well, guess it's good for an upper body workout too.

~*~

I'm constantly looking for more alternatives in my diet. Cutting out the fat is a good thing, but sure takes a lot of pages out of the menu. I haven't had a chicken pot pie since the ER, so looked at the Banquet pies at the store. I figured there couldn't be that much fat in such tiny little packages. WRONG. 22 grams! (I try to keep myself to around 10 per meal) Ludicrous.

This is why it pisses me off when Republicans like Rush Limbaugh point to obesity among the poor as proof that they're hardly starving to death -- the cheapest food is the highest in fat and the worst for your health, creating a vicious circle of bad eating leading to obesity and other health problems you can't afford to see a doctor about (like $3000 ER visits for a gallstone attack). There's a reason Whole Foods has a slightly higher class clientele; healthy shit's EXPENSIVE. Surely Rush must have noticed this fact when he started dieting?

Anyway, I found a new item that seemed promising, Tai Pei frozen Chinese food. It comes in Chinese take-out sized containers, and only 2.5 grams of fat! I bought three varieties, and tried the first yesterday.

Well. What I didn't notice when I bought them was that they supposedly hold 2-1/2 servings. And once you open the box, it's only about half full. Who eats servings that small? Wee little China men with bird-like appetites, that's who. It's like a piece of chicken, a couple of ears of baby corn and two pea pods, a teaspoon of rice and you're done. Try not to gorge yourself.

It still adds up to only 6 grams of fat, but it seems like a really shifty way to pass yourself off as low fat. I mean, anything can be billed as "low fat" if eaten in small enough quantities. Delivery pizza (which I miss maybe the most of all) is low fat, as long as you only eat one or two bites. That won't really hold you over to your next meal, however.

~*~

Finally, a movie review. I'm cutting, which usually doesn't bode well for a movie.

( ::Peacock:: )

By contrast, I've watched this about 20 times and it still makes my heart stop.

I'm going to be a mess when these movies end. An absolute mess.

~*~

Last but not least, I took this pic of myself while testing a new photo app on my phone. I want it to be my author photo on my first book, though Tery says I look like those stupid greeting cards with dog faces using the fishbowl effect. Phooey.

I made it my default icon, replacing the one of Tery when she was drunk (because I was reminded of that fact every time I saw it).

Current Mood: chipper
Current Music: See the animal in its cage at the zoo//are you sure what side of the glass you are on?

No new adventures to report this week -- I know, one week in and I'm already a failure. Stupid me put off leaving too long and the sun looked too brutal to go anywhere. Of course, it's easy to forget that sometimes it's 10 degrees cooler outside than inside our condo.

I did attend a party at Chris and Liana's. We had sort of fallen out of vogue at the parties when Tery quit drinking. We went to Halloween and she claimed the temptation was too great -- though I personally failed to see what she thought she was missing watching everyone else get progressively stupider and more obnoxious (perhaps she missed the numbing effects that made the stupidity and obnoxiousness more bearable).

So we just haven't been invited, until this weekend. Which means no one has seen me and my 50-pound weight loss. They all marveled appropriately (and I won't be modest, it is a marvel; I never thought I'd see the downside of 190 before my deathbed). For once I was skinnier than even Laura, the big party flirt, who in her defense is happy in a new relationship, and that always packs on the pounds.

I was a bad girl and ate more fatty foods than I've ever dared since my ER visit, though still less than once upon a time: I only sampled one each of the crab cheese mushrooms and cheddar cheese bruschetta (EVERYTHING had cheese on it), and one whole Omaha steak. I was okay at the time, but later that night I felt a shadow of the chest pain, just a friendly reminder that Mr. Gallstone was still along for the ride, my Dark Passenger.

Still, I've realized that if I could have the surgery today and go back to eating whatever I wanted, I wouldn't do it. I like my life (and how I look) too much this way. I know, I'm sickening, aren't I?

Another of my agendas for attending was to hopefully plan some bike riding with Chris and Liana (it's all about the bike with me). They're pretty serious too, taking frequent trips into the mountains and even once or twice to Alaska to ride. They acted pretty gung-ho about going with me to their local park, and so was I, until I learned that not only does Chris not believe in helmets, he fills his water bottle with a vodka mix before barreling down the mountain at 40 mph -- without a helmet. I was nervous enough with Ryan bare-headed but at least stone cold sober in our little Cherry Creek park. I don't know how I'd handle Suicide Man.

It's okay; if there's one thing I've noticed about parties, it's that people spend a lot of time sitting around making all sorts of grand plans that never amount to anything. Which isn't always a bad thing.

~*~

Ahh, Rogue Leader. We've had our ups and downs. I've been getting mysterious chronic flats, always on the rear tire of course (much harder to change). Always after a lovely afternoon of riding, I'd come back, put him back on his rack, and by morning the tire would be almost completely flat. No visible punctures and nothing obvious causing the damage.

I went through three tubes and decided I'd had enough. I brought the tire into Bicycle Village to ask the opinion of their service department. I showed it to a big burly blonde guy who spent most of the conversation staring off over my head, obviously happier dealing with spokes and chains than human beings (not that I can point fingers). He gave it the most cursory of looks, said, "I don't know what to tell you," set me up with a new tube (that he impressively stuck on, tire casing and all, in about 30 seconds with barely a glance) and sent me on my way, free of charge at least.

This tube lasted a total of three days before going flat, a personal worst. Whut. I didn't relish the thought of facing Blondie's cold stare again, so I determinedly plunked down with a flashlight and went over every inch of the inside of the tire. I found the teeniest tiny bit of a wire sticking out of it, no larger than a grain of sand, but certainly sharp. Knock on wood, it might have been the culprit. Blondie might be quick with his hands, but not so good with attention to detail.

Funnily enough, this was one of the first suggestions I found when I searched Yahoo Answers for my problem. God, I hope it was the problem. To be extra sure, I went back to Bicycle Village and ponied up three times the dinars for a thorn-resistant tube, because I'm really, really, REALLY tired of changing tubes. My rear wheel now weighs more than Tery's entire bike, but I don't care if I can get longer than a week's use out of it.

(ADDENDUM: Today was the maiden voyage of my new tube. Definitely feel a difference -- have to work harder to maintain momentum, etc. But good exercise, right? I expect soon my thighs will be so powerful I'll have to start dragging cinder blocks behind me to get any sort of challenge.)

On the plus side, I'm now pretty damn good at changing tires (not Blondie good, but at least I can look people in the eye). And I've got a collection of partially inflated tubes that's the talk of the town.

But when Rogue Leader is up, I'm the happiest girl in the world. The other day I was racing down a big straight-away hill, my iPod rocking the bagpipe solo in "Under the Milky Way Tonight," and, at that moment, that was all I wanted out of life.

~*~

Here's a silver lining to the whole iTunes debacle: My hospital debtor who insisted on a $78 payment plan waited until about two days after my account had been cleaned out to take their money, so the payment bounced. I did the right thing, called the bank and called the debtor to explain. I was told they would just re-bill the account after the money was returned.

There the $78 sat for another month. I dutifully recorded the charge in my Quicken so there were no unpleasant surprises when it suddenly disappeared, but still there it sat. I forgot about it, thinking they were waiting for next month to try again. And there it sat.

Then I started getting daily calls from an unidentified number. I picked up one day and it was them -- which I didn't realize until halfway through the conversation. They started going through the spiel of "Can you pay the balance ($820) today?" "No I can't." "Can you pay X?" "No, I've been paying you $50 a month and that's all I can handle for now." Blah blah, on it went, until it dawned on me they were the $78 people.

You know what would make this less confusing? Consolidating into one big bill. Yeah, revolutionary thinking, that's me.

"I already set up a payment plan with you," I told him.

"I was wondering. The notes are sort of confusing on here," he said.

I explained my whole sad tale. He commiserated, and offered to reinstate my plan. Since he had seemed happy with $50, I confessed that I was really more comfortable with that than $78. He said that was fine. I wondered aloud then why the first person would only settle for $78. He just chuckled knowingly and made it happen.

If they hadn't tried to change the deal on me in the first place, I wouldn't have missed two months and they would have been $100 richer by now. But no, they couldn't be happy with a regular payment every month. Let's just all do things my way and no one will get hurt.

~*~

Some photos. First I noticed the cats were playing with a moth in the kitchen. Kitten to Logan: "No way, YOU like chasing moths? I DO TOO."

I thought nothing of it, until I saw the moth and realized it was MothRA. It looked like a damn sparrow in our kitchen.

Tery's so brave. She scooped it up and put it outside without even flinching. My hero

Logan has reverted back to Homeless Cat, loves sleeping in a tent made out of my overhanging bed sheets. So much so that one day I forgot to put it down and he yelled at me until I did. Crazy boy.

Can you spot the cat in this picture?

Just a little one of me and Rogue Leader. If I don't look very happy, it's because off-road biking takes a lot more concentration

Current Mood: productive
Current Music: Wish I knew what you were looking for//might have known what you would find

Two entries in one week, INORITE? Well, that's because I actually had an adventure on Monday. Furthermore, I hope to have an adventure at least once a week for the rest of the summer.

Biking is slowly getting into my blood. Colorado has been called a mecca for cyclists. Denver was the second American city to institute a bike sharing program for the Democratic National Convention (Bicycling magazine, July 2010). An estimated 10% of Boulder residents commute daily by bike, 20 times the national average (dailycameracom). (By contrast, Blackhawk, CO, a mountain gambling town, just outlawed all biking in the city limits; presumably too many cyclists getting injured by drunks stumbling out of casinos.) We've got miles and miles of open countryside and a big old mountain range. And here I sit (sat), content with hopping across the street to the paved (and usually heavily-populated) path in the park.

Well, Monday all that changed. I'd been checking out ideas on trails.com, and found a few promising parks nearby. The first one I wanted to try was Barr Lake in Brighton, CO, which promised 9.6 miles of unpaved trail around the lake with zero climbing and a technical rating of easy.

It rained all weekend, so by Monday I was chomping at the bit to get outside. Which is totally not like me. Well, the old me.

I really wanted Ryan to go with me. I'm not used to saddling up and disappearing to parts unknown all alone. We did have plans for me to play Wii at his house, but see what I said above about not wanting to sit inside for one more day.

It turns out neither of these plans were to be, since Ryan was up all night drinking Sunday with Chris. You remember Chris, the Olympian-in-training? Yeah. Needless to say this news didn't do much to raise Chris in my esteem. The last thing Ryan needs is another playboy drunk loser, but you try telling him that.

So with disgust I strapped my bike to my trunk and was off.

In my defense, I don't have any experience with the bike rack. Usually Tery handles it. But I was still a little surprised after 15 minutes on the highway to see the rear end of the bike lifting up off the arm of the rack. It was tied on, but it still looked kind of alarming seeing the bike keeling like that.

I pulled off the first exit to adjust it. As I tied it down more forcefully, I nervously eyed the dark clouds overhead and the chilly wind. But Colorado, as I've learned this biking season, is good for threatening lots of storms that never actually hit my location. I've scampered home prematurely more than once, only to have the sun break through the clouds just as I unlock the front door. Damn Colorado.

So I soldiered on.

Ten minutes later, it was doing it again (the bike coming loose, I mean). DAMMIT. I pulled off an exit right where the highway forked and I needed to keep heading east. I pulled into an auto auction parking lot and tightened it down again.

When I went to get back on the highway, I was taken aback to see there was no on-ramp going in the direction I needed, just the direction I had come from. GOD DAMMIT. I had to jump on the highway, exit, turn around, and jump back on.

Then the highway forked again. My directions stated only I-76 east, yet there was an exit clearly marked Brighton to the left, my destination. With no certainty at all, I took the exit.

I went three blocks and slowly admitted I had made a mistake. I pulled over across the street from a barren-looking U-Haul storage place and checked my Google Maps. Yes indeedy.

By this point I had to pee really, really badly. Oh, and I also had to re-tighten the motherfucking bike again.

I headed back for the highway. To my relief I spotted a Conoco and stopped to pee. The walls were scrawled with such sentiments as "Fuck Obama" and "Burn ni**er Obama." Lovely. Redneck country. And my pinko, fuel efficient Honda with my Obama/Biden and anti-religious stickers, and my tree-hugging, non-gas-using bike sitting undefended in the parking lot. Fortunately this was a working-class town, not many folk around on a Monday afternoon.

I started to head back to the highway. Would you believe AGAIN no on-ramp for the direction I needed? GOD DAMMIT TO HELL, GODDAMN REDNECKS AND YOUR STUPID REDNECK EXITS.

Once I got going in the right direction, I found the park with no problem. I hadn't lost my bike on the highway and the clouds had finally burned off. Things were looking up!

Well, not for long. After all that time on the road (nearly two hours, I think) I was starving. The only food the park's gift shop offered was a small packet of trail mix (18 grams of fat!!!) which was, nevertheless, delicious. I was a little nervous about the park brochure which advised thorn-resistant tires (I have none...yet). I didn't even think to change out my semi-slicks for my knobbies. Mine is a steep learning curve.

I hit the trail and it seemed pleasant at first -- a nice wide dirt path, the lake to my left, the open fields of the park to my right.

My joy was rather shortlived. The path turned a corner and ran for about a mile behind a dam, not particularly scenic. After that it got worse. First it turned into singletrack (I hate singletrack) for another mile. Then for a quarter of a mile I rode through sharp-looking black shale that ran alongside train tracks. I thought escaping this journey without a flat would really be a miracle, and I found myself very anxious for the trail to end.

I passed three local (redneck) kids walking with their fishing gear, very Norman Rockwell. I passed a very independent puppy, who ignored me and resolutely continued on his determined puppy way towards the road. I saw a deer springing across my path in four effortless bounds and vanish into the underbrush before I could pull out my camera. I saw a flock of geese, who could fly surely, instead laboriously waddling through the tall grass on their way to the lake.

The trail (which was actually a tractor road) became very muddy and treacherous, alternating between huge pools of water and soft sand that swallowed my tires past the rim. Every foot of the way I had to be constantly alert for these pitfalls, far from relaxing, but also three times the workout I expected to get despite no hill climbing.

At least there were no Lance Armstrong wannabe's breathing down my neck or sniping at me for forcing them to apply their brakes.

Finally it was over. I couldn't have been more relieved to see the Nature Center come into view. I hated this trail, and not just because of the conditions. Really not very pretty considering the distance I'd come. Couldn't even see the mountains from here. At least I could cross it off my to-do list.

But it had definitely whet my appetite. It showed me how easy it actually would be to saddle up and disappear to parts unknown, a new part every week. (For the ride home, I figured out my mistake with the rack; I had stuck the arm through the rear fork instead of putting both arms under the main crossbar so they both sat snug in the foam cradle. I drove all the way home without incident.) The trip back, without pit stops and knowing where I was going, was just about 40 minutes and 40 miles. There are tons of places like that, some a little farther, but I would of course get an earlier start.

It's going to be a great summer.

~*~

I came home and watched a movie I'll bet most of the people reading this will never have heard of, never mind get a chance to see. It's been released elsewhere in the world, but leave it to the good old US of A to be dead last. Rumor has it it's tied up in litigation; more cynical sources blame it on the big gay content. I found a bittorrent via my

boy_touching community.

( ::I Love You, Phillip Morris:: )

Of course, the fact that it's taking so ridiculously long to be released Stateside will probably surround the film with unwarranted drama. People are already moaning on the IMDb boards about what crap it is, why is it getting so much attention? Or perhaps they're just using that complaint to hide their homophobia.

Current Mood: accomplished

I know no one else wants to hear this pseudo-complaint, but today is the first day Denver went above 95 degrees. For awhile there I was wondering if summer was ever going to come! But I was a good girl and went for my bike ride at 8 am, before the heat started pressing me down and changing my mind. I rode for 2 hours, and decided to head home when even my iPod earbuds felt too hot and heavy to wear.

I took another picture of my brook: I know I said it was "off limits" to bikes, but there's still some controversy (in my head) about that. Deb (who is a big hiker and knows all about state parks) says budget contraints meant they could only afford one sign, and so were hoping to keep half of the bikers off the trail at least. I'm not so sure -- other paths have just a tiny road marker on the side with a "bikes banned' symbol that I respect. I can't believe those cost so much they can't put one up if it's really that crucial.

So I reached a compromise and instead biked in on the big, wide gravel path that leads straight to the stream, ignoring the lovelier, smaller side paths that wend through the meadows.

Couldn't resist adding some digital saturation to improve on nature's beauty

This one, however, is completely untouched, from my drive to work Saturday. I like how the street lights look like demonic eyes

Sunday MyFriendDeb and I again hit the annual Chalk Art Festival downtown. Perhaps it was because it didn't rain so there was no sense of tragic urgency, or perhaps the artists weren't as good, but not nearly as many pieces really impressed us.

Cute! With a message

This was wild; you had to look at the reflection in the cylinder to see the undistorted result of this Daliesque piece

This was Deb's favorite. I thought it was just a phoenix until she pointed out the BP symbol in the upper left. I thought the message was that BP would rise from the ashes of this disaster, an uncharacteristically optimistic view for an artist. She just thought it was supposed to be an oil-covered bird.

My favorite was a bit less profound -- the DIA Mustang stands atop the "cash register" building (the only distinctive landmark of our skyline) and shoots planes out of the sky with his devil laser eyes. Cheeky and locally topical!

My first celebrity sighting in Denver! This is Kirk Montgomery, who not only has acted in several soap operas but who currently does the entertainment segments on our local news, which is the only thing I know him from

Can't have a chalk art festival without chalk

This pic might not look that special, but I actually took it in the process of lifting my phone up and hit a button accidentally. Check out that composition!

This by contrast is the result when I try to be artistic. Denver has a new bike rental service set up. Good for tourists, kind of pricey if you already have a bike here

Current Mood: hot

Nothing new, nothing new at all -- well, my bike helmet is new. Wish I had a thrilling tale of action-packed mishaps, but the fact is Rogue Leader fell over and landed on my old helmet. Bike helmet shopping is about the least fun thing for me thanks to my abnormally large cranium (need some place to keep that massive brain, you see). Trying to find one that doesn't look like a fish bowl on my head, at a reasonable price, is quite the challenge. Thankfully Giro is a company that doesn't think stylish and racy should be reserved for their top-line products.

So it's a movie review for y'all. A vampire movie, though no dreamy bedroom poster fodder here: I'm talking about the sleeper Swedish hit ( ::Let the Right One In:: )

The message of Let the Right One In seems to be it doesn't matter if you don't have a lot of friends, as long as at least one of them is a bloodsucking creature of the night. But it did have nice cinematography and the interesting backdrop of 80's Sweden. I would buy this before a single Twilight movie, which shouldn't surprise anyone.

~*~

I celebrated Memorial Day by taking a long, luxurious bike ride by myself. I went with Tery on Sunday, but her useless racing bike can't handle the off-road trails Rogue Leader is yearning for.

I thought I had found such a trail on Monday. I had taken the first off-road turn I came to, only to be thwarted by a sign warning that it was a wetlands preserve and bikes, horses, cars were off limits. Poop.

So I circled around to the other side where I found a trail of packed gravel. I didn't see any signs saying not to, so I took it. To my huge delight I discovered it led to a secluded babbling brook, surrounded by trees and meadows, all with a meandering path winding through them, perfect for my bike, and best of all hardly no one else around me.

This is all I want in life. Is that so much to ask?

When you're alone, all photos have to be taken arm-length Facebook style

My joy at finding this treasure of a bike route was cruelly stamped out, however, when I reached the other end, which turned out to be the entrance with the sign about no bikes, horses, yadda yadda. Which explained the look of disgust on a woman's face while she pointedly marched up to the sign to read it as I passed, despite the lettering being three inches high. Well, wouldn't you expect there to be a sign posted at all entrances to the trail? In my defense, I did pass one other couple also biking on it, so I wasn't the only one tricked. Stupid, stupid Cherry Creek Reservoir Park.

I'm afraid I'll have to go to the foothills to find a similar trail that does allow bikes. Except then it becomes this production, certainly not as convenient as peddling across the street, and I have no one to go with me with a bike that can handle it. Except maybe Ryan, but he can't bear to be away from John for more than a few hours.

~*~

Time for another review, not for a movie this time, but for movie extras. I'm speaking of course of the Blu-ray release of Alice in Wonderland, which I enjoyed so much more on disc than in the theater. I guess this also qualifies as "new" so disregard the opening statement of this post.

The Blu-ray looks gorgeous. The Hatter looks madder. The Bandersnatch looks more frumious. And Stayne looks more...Stayned. Despite having no commentary (for the best really; Burton gives awful commentaries. Keeps trailing off in mid-thought and spends huge portions of the film just watching in silence), the making-of featurettes were all very entertaining and gave me a much greater appreciation of all the work that went into the film. Although not a word about my Rickman -- a whole bit about the bakers who created the "Eat Me" cake that's seen for a total of three minutes on-screen, but not a word about Rickman. Bleah. At least Michael Sheen and Stephen Fry got the same shabby treatment.

Anyway, all sorts of interesting tidbits behind the cut about special effects, etc., for those who care. ( ::CUT:: )

Remember that time when I thought the hospital was haunted? Something else happened this weekend.

I had walked the dogs, was blissfully sweeping the floor when I heard it: Voices coming from the heating vent in the ceiling. Loud enough, in fact, that I heard them through my iPod earbuds. I listened to them for a minute, quietly freaking out.

The hospital is a freestanding building. There are no adjacent office spaces that might share the vents. I went upstairs, thinking perhaps the breakroom TV had been left on and I had somehow missed that fact in my initial security sweep that I make every night when I arrive. No dice.

I went back downstairs and still heard them, so I called Tery.

Me: Why am I hearing voices in the ceiling vent?
Tery: You are??
Me: Yeah. It's a guy and a girl. I can't hear what they're saying, but the girl was crying a minute ago.
Tery: STOP IT, YOU'RE FREAKING ME OUT
Me: Well how do you think I feel being here??
Tery: Maybe they're ghosts of people whose dog died here...
Me: And then they died here too??
Tery: I DON'T KNOW, I'M SO FREAKED OUT RIGHT NOW
Me: You aren't doing a good job of reassuring me.
Tery: Maybe the workmen disturbed some spirits... (the hospital is being remodeled currently)
Me: Nope, still not reassuring.

Once she got over her paralyzing terror, she reasoned I must have been picking up a conversation from the next door gas station parking lot; the vents open up on that side of the building. It continued for another minute or two and then went silent. Kind of bizarre that in almost four years working here this is the first I've noticed it, but it's not like I hang out at that end of the building all night.

~*~

Speaking of supernatural, I have a bit of an addendum to my "Twilight" review. In it I stated that Michael Sheen et.al. were about the least frightening group of actors to ever play vamps, completely forgetting that this isn't Sheen's first run-in with a fantasy franchise -- I actually first saw him as the werewolf leader Lucian in the "Underworld" series.

Vamps and wolves are also mortal enemies in those movies (minus a truce). He was a lot hairier and more buffed out, and a lot more convincing as a wolf, kind of like Sirius Black's younger brother (Harry Potter interlude there). Of course, those movies at least agree that vamps have no business being in sunlight, even if they play a little looser with the rules of lycanthropy. I think I don't mind those liberties as much because there's no ultra-dreamy vamp making teenage girls lose their minds the world over, with a ludicrous Mary Sue plot -- although there is a Romeo and Juliet-ish romance between Lucian and the vamp leader's vamp daughter Sonja.

(Sort of unrelated squeeing: Just saw on IMDb there's a "rumored" Underworld 4, holy crap. ALSO that Bill Nighy (vamp leader, I think Underworld is actually the first movie I ever saw him in) is going to be Rufus Scrimgeour in Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter interlude) ZOMG YOU GUYS)

~*~

But the Wii is gone

I got a notice from Netflix that they now offered streaming online videos through my Wii player. That's made of all kinds of awesome so I hooked my Wii to the internet to get onboard. The first thing it asked was if I wanted to update; seeing no harm, I did.

By the time it finished updating I had lost interest in the whole Netflix thing (mild ADD?) and wanted to play a game instead. Unfortunately suddenly I was getting an error message after about two minutes of playing. I don't know why I didn't see a connection with the update thing, and in fact there may not be -- I was gripped by mind-freezing panic, especially when I got the message with every single game.

Once I calmed down, I turned to my source for all information, YahooAnswers. Some said it was either a problem with the lens or the hard drive, but most recommended sending it to Nintendo for service.

I'm not really comfortable with the whole manufacturer's repair scenario, since I bought it used -- not that there's anything illegal about buying it used, I just didn't know where that left me in terms of a warranty. According to Nintendo's site, out of warranty repairs were $75 plus shipping. SKATCHAMAGOWZA. But they at least promised to replace it with a refurb if it were unfixable.

Always trying to save a few bucks (a habit that almost always backfires on me), I searched for other options. There seemed to be some local game shops selling repair services on Craigslist for around $60, and some even cheaper on eBay. The thought of not having to ship was appealing, not to mention that savings of $25.

Ultimately I decided to call Nintendo and see what they said. Maybe I'd luck out and there'd be an easy fix someone could offer by phone.

This didn't turn out to be the case, however, they do have an "out of warranty no-cost repair service" that I liked the sound of very much. They opened a ticket for me, sent me a prepaid FedEx shipping label, and that was that. She warned it could take 6-8 weeks, but since it was free I wasn't about to complain.

I ran out to FedEx that day with everything boxed up in the very conspicuous white Wii box. I was a little nervous because the young guy behind the counter seemed like the exact age of someone who wouldn't mind risking their crappy retail job for the chance to steal a Wii -- people have done it for far less (true story: once worked with a stoner who got caught stealing a Grateful Dead cassette tape on the job and got fired). He promised to put it in another box for shipping and take care of everything. Oh, I'll just bet he would take care of everything.

My fears weren't allayed when the next morning I decided to check my tracking number on the site, to discover it belonged to a package that had been delivered to someone in New York in March 2009. What the....? I was sure he had pulled a bait and switch on me. I called the store in a panic. The woman who answered said she didn't have any information in her system regarding the tracking number (oh, GREAT) but that the package was still sitting there waiting to go out. Yes, but was there anything in the box? I didn't ask her. I agreed to put my trust in them.

Looking more closely, it appeared that the tracking number was in fact generated by Nintendo, so I guess they recycle numbers. The next day the site had refreshed and there my tracking info appeared, so I relaxed.

I thought being a "no-cost" repair my unit would sit on the back of a shelf for a few weeks first, but not the case. Nintendo received it, repaired it on the same day, and sent it back out again the following morning. I expect its return on Tuesday. So the point of this whole boring story is major kudos to Nintendo for their customer service (that and a reminder to self that trying to save a few bucks is sometimes a mistake). It almost makes up for the way they gouge you by selling every single bleeding accessory separately for top dollar.

~*~

I have this thing about security. I don't know where it comes from, my house has never been broken into (although two cars have). I'm just convinced everyone is a potential crook eyeballing my stuff.

With summer nearly upon us and no gym membership, I'm stepping up my bike use. My bike is nothing special -- Specialized Hard Rock, but it's over ten years old. The only recent upgrades have been a Cloud 9 seat for my tender, easily bruised derriere and a set of hybrid semi-slick tires (flat on the inside, knobby on the outside, go from paved road to dirt tracks -- LOVE THEM).

And truthfully the bike is hardly ever out of my sight apart from the occasional grocery trip (which I hope to do more frequently this season). Yet I feel the need to lock down every inch of it as if I lived in East LA.

First I looked for a lock. I focused on the Kryptonites since they come the highest recommended. They rock, if only for the fact they have a "New York" line with the word "fahgettaboudit" printed on the side. Would have been all over those if they didn't look like they weighed about ten pounds and cost almost $100. I settled on a midline model instead.

Then my tires started bugging me with their quick release (i.e. quick steal) skewers, so I looked for a set of locking (screw-in) skewers. When I found those I discovered they also make a seat post skewer as well.

I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel.

Tery reckons I can now get work as a bike messenger delivering crack cocaine on Colfax Ave -- she, like many of you, thinks I'm being a little ridiculous.

Am I though? On its maiden voyage to the grocery store, I pulled up to the sidewalk and noticed a guy standing at the end of the building. As I chained my bike to the rack, he sidled up to stand directly in front of me. What's THAT all about? Either he was trying to appear threatening or volunteering to guard it for me. You can guess which I chose to believe.

~*~

The medical bill craziness continues. After receiving another threatening invoice from someone I've been paying regularly, I gave them a call this morning, with the dread of being forced on another payment plan just slightly more than I could afford.

Me: I'm calling about this threatening letter you sent me despite me paying you every month.
Customer Service: We want you to be aware you have a current balance of $320.
Me: I am aware. I'm keeping very careful track of all my bills every month, and making sure to pay everyone. You have to understand I'm trying to pay like four people back.
CS: I understand. Can I get you on a payment plan? (here we go)
Me: How much more would I be paying a month?
CS: We can stretch it out for 9 months, which would come to $35 a month.
Me: ???
Me: But I'm paying you $50 now!
CS: Yes, and we appreciate that. But right now you will receive a letter threatening to send you to collections every three months you have a balance, and collections is a very ugly situation. If you were on a payment plan the letters wouldn't be sent.
Me: Fine. If you're happy with $35 a month then I am too.
CS: You are free to pay more, but $35 would be the minimum. And may I remind you there will never be finance or interest charges on your balance.

Well $35 is all they're getting, since with no threat of finance charges I don't really have any motivation to pay more -- it almost makes up for the extra $28 I'm paying the other people.

Today I enrolled in my employer's insurance plan, so hopefully this is the last medical emergency where I'll have to go through this nonsense.

~*~

Last but not least, yesterday the satellite TV went out due to Tery not paying the bill. I wasn't all that surprised to learn she would rather stare at a blank TV and sulk than watch Avatar.

~*~

Oops, THIS is last but not least: HAPPY BIRTHDAY

kavieshana!!!!!! The big 4-0, huh?

Current Mood: hungry

I've decided July Fourth is my most hated holiday, because it's celebrated every year on the weekend regardless of what day it actually falls on, and hence I always have to work it. Oh, and I have to spend it with dogs every year.

I'm not sure who I hate more: The people illegally setting off fireworks in the neighborhood surrounding the hospital (and we had some real heavy duty ones this year), or the lazy dog owners who leave their precious babies with me on the night(s) of the year when they require the most intensive comforting (I'm not the right person for THAT position). The answer is neither; I hate the people who buy too many rockets and spend the rest of the month setting them off at odd intervals.

Hence I decided if I ever become a millionaire, every year I'm buying up all the fireworks for sale in the city and burying them in an enormous hole behind my mansion. The Grinch Who Stole Independence Day. Bahoo Boris, motherfuckers.

~*~

I decided I couldn't put off my need for a haircut any longer and headed to my favorite Great Clips for the last time (you'll see).

My stylist this afternoon was a middlish-aged woman named Elaine. "Wow," I exclaimed, "Not often there are two of us in the room, huh?" It turned out the similarities weren't going to end there.

I told her I just wanted a basic cut, just clean up the edges a bit. I wasn't afraid of short and I loved lots of layers. I also didn't spend time styling in the morning, just wash and go -- my usual spiel.

"Don't you want to try something different?" she asked, running her fingers through it casually.

"N...ot really," I said.

"C'mon. I think you should try an A-line," she insisted.

"What's an A-line?"

"What I've got. It's really short in the back and longer on the sides. I think you'll love it."

"Ummmmm....okay." I give Tery such shit for never standing up for herself, and here I was agreeing to a hairstyle I was sure I was not going to love.

I hoped my obvious reluctance would mean she maybe wouldn't make it too drastic, in vain. She took it halfway up the back of my head. Gulp. She left the sides almost their current length. Then she started eyeing my bangs.

"Is this your part?" she said a little critically. What do you think, lady? I did it up differently to come see you?

"Yes, that's my part." Straight down the middle, that is.

"Have you ever thought of parting it on the side?" No I hadn't, mostly because I have a deadly cowlick on the right that pretty much rules that side with an iron fist, and doesn't like anyone messing with it. I told her so (maybe not so colorfully).

But she was determined. "I think you should part it on the side." The reason I come to Great Clips is because they promise to "listen to you" and give you exactly what you ask for, not bully you into a complete makeover.

So she trimmed a bit off the bangs and then proceeded to pile all the hair from the left over onto the cowlick. Yeah, THAT was comfortable. Call me old-fashioned, but I like a hairstyle that lets me move my head, you know, if someone chucks something at my face (it could totally happen). I knew it wouldn't make a bit of difference. In 30 minutes or less the cowlick would throw the pile off again, or make it all stick straight up. This woman had never dealt with a cowlick before, obviously. At least not one as ferocious as mine.

But I endured it, I don't know why, just counting the minutes until I could get out of there and do my best to return to the style I liked. She fluffed it relentlessly, pulling out the blow dryer (I HATE the blow dryer. Remember the part where I said I don't do anything to style it normally?) and whipping it into a fondue. When she was done, she stepped back triumphantly. That's when I noticed she had cut it into the exact same style she herself wore, windswept bangs and all. I wondered how many other clones of herself she sent out the front door every day. Like Tery, I forced a smile and pretended to LOVE IT. ("And the Oscar goes to...")

Then the humiliating walk to the cash register in front of the customers in the waiting room, all of whom I'm sure could tell this haircut was nothing at all like me. The casual march to the car, forcing myself to maintain until I could drive up out of sight of the store front.

Then the frantic running of fingers through it, re-establishing my center part, trying to mash down the puffiness just a bit (for some reason I always schedule a trip into a store after a haircut, so I can't rush home if it's a disaster). Now I regret being so hasty I didn't get photo documentation. I tried searching for some images on the net, but the problem is all the women with this cut seem to be happy with it and it suits them, i.e. none of them are a big gruff man-woman who would rather floss with tinfoil than use hairspray.

Not actually me, but pretty close to what I got. This woman looks slightly more elated than I was.

Now, let's take a quick look at what my hair usually looks like, and then ask ourselves why on earth Elaine 2 thought I'd like something so radically different.

Plus look at that goofy expression. Absolutely nothing about me says "glamour."

The only good thing about the visit was when I found my free will in time to refuse to buy the 30-dollar bottle of shampoo she insisted would work wonders with my new 'do. You know, for when I blowdry it and everything. Was she even in the room when I told her my relationship with my hair? Was I?

I got home and started in with the scissors. I absolutely couldn't stand it -- the longer sides made me feel like a basset hound, and I compulsively touched the back repeatedly wondering if it looked as short as it felt. I've been gradually hacking away at it, like a sculptor trying to find his work of art in a slab of rock, looking for the haircut I wanted. I finally think I'm there, but it's going to need a lot of growing back. And now I can never go back to that Great Clips for fear of meeting Elaine 2 again.

~*~

The bulk of this entry was written from the edge of Cherry Creek Reservoir, though you probably can't tell. One of the nicest things about our place is it's about 5 minutes from Cherry Creek State Park, a massive area full of bike trails and picnic spots with the reservoir at its center. I've found a route that works really well for me -- downhill almost the whole way in, where I find a quiet spot to relax for a bit. Then the ride out the same way, which is a gradual uphill that gets my heart pumping but doesn't make me want to spit it out of my throat and collapse on the side of the trail.

This is the nice little beach I found for myself today. It reminds me a lot of the lake I grew up on.

The point is, on the way back this evening I saw three things in quick succession you don't expect to see in a park: First, a woman pushing a shopping cart full of her worldly belongings, I'm going to assume homeless. Sad, but I suppose if you don't have a home there are worse places to shack up than a park. Next, three Mexicans just walking, one of them on a cell phone. I don't want to sound racist, but it's not often you see Mexicans in recreational activities around here like hiking. Third, a cop car creeping along on the trail (the trail where motor vehicles are prohibited, I should add). This was when I thought to myself, "Did I take a wrong turn and end up in da hood??"

~*~

Finally, I leave you with a nice shot of Tery trying to enjoy breakfast in bed with me, but then the animals got wind of it and saw no reason she should keep the delicious cereal to herself: