The running last week went extraordinarily well. I clocked two miles at 16:58 and change and a mile at 7:38 which is the first time I've done a mile in under 8 minutes in weeks. Then today came and my morning mile was almost 10 minutes. My mojo just kind of left ...
But with regards to lifting, I saw progress for the first time in quite some time. I'm still not at three full sets of shoulder presses. But I can do three full sets of everything else. Although, leg extensions, of all things, are difficult. I dunno why. My legs are my best feature. If the rest of my body was proportionate to my legs, I'd be eight feet tall.
Also, I noticed two weeks ago that I'm bowlegged. A friend of mine pointed out to me quite some time ago that I was standing bowlegged in a picture. I was, but intentionally so. Child of the eighties that I am, I came of age when cow-punk was coming to be. Mike Ness had just got out of prison and was singing the blues. Skinheads were wearing spurs on their oxblood red Docs. Alien Jourgenson donned a cowboy hat. Standing bowlegged, as if one were a cowboy, was one of the iconic punk rock poses.
But, as it turns out, it's not just a pose for me. C'est la vie. There's worse things in the world.
I've been quiet as of late because papers were due last week and the week before. I put together 40 pages of text (without counting notes and bibliographies) to meet various deadlines. This week is exam week. So I'll likely be mostly quiet after today.
The exams this semester are make or break for me. If I end up only doing an adequate job like I did last semester, I'm going to give some serious thought as to whether or not I should stay in grad school. I like the work. I really like the work. But its quite possible that the work, at least at this school is beyond what I can do. Hence it's time to buckle down.
Speaking on only doing an adequate job, I'm starting to wonder if I'm an adrenaline addict. I've always known that I do my best work under pressure. And I can't say that I really enjoy that sinking feeling where I doubt I have enough time to do everything I need to do and the hair on the back of my neck is standing on end for 72 hours straight as I race to beat the clock. But I keep putting myself into those situations. I wonder at times if I'm doing it subconsciously because I crave adrenaline. It has been, after all, quite some time since I've been run over or have done something utterly idiotic on a bicycle. Setting myself up for possible academic failure is safe by comparison, I suppose. Nevertheless, it's not a good thing.
I made a tactical error while grocery shopping. I had put ham on the list because I was hoping that it'd be cheap due to concerns over swine flu. It wasn't that cheap, save for the big chunks of 10 pounds or more. So I bought one. I figured I could use a pound or so for the ham/potato chowder on the menu, slice a bit off to use for cold cuts on sandwiches, and freeze the rest to use at some ill defined point in the mysterious future.
Turns out that it wasn't cooked yet. No big deal, I figured, I'll cook it in the slow cooker overnight. So I did. It cooked. But slow cooked ham in the crock pot is not the type that easily slices to make slicings of the right sort to go on sandwiches. So I ended up freezing almost all of it. And there is quite a lot of it. Lots of ham recipes coming up next week ...
Not to mention that as I type this, the fat and bones are simmering to make gallons upon gallons of ham stock ...
My eldest daughter's distaste for Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 fresh in mind, I thought that I'd give it another spin as I'm not certain that I ever read it as an adult. Having had the experience of not on being married and also having worked at a job I hated for a number of years certainly put a spin on the opening chapters that I completely missed as a teenager. Bits of the social commentary also seem pretty ham-fisted.
But I'm reminded of why I like Bradbury as an author so much. His intimate description of the little details shocks and awes. He has just the right words to make this or that little thing come to life in a way that makes the reader see the full significance of everyday occurrences for the very first time.
The other interesting bit is how well the sci-fi parts of the book hold up. The only thing he really, really missed out on is the Internet. The way he portrays the opiate of the masses is practically calling out for Facebook.
I got in a friendly dustup with a friend on Facebook. He posted the aphorism, ``Philosophy is a game with objectives and no rules. Mathematics is a game with rules and no objectives.'' I objected that, as sub-field of philosophy, mathematics cannot differ with regards to objectives and rules.
To begin with, philosophy, save perhaps for some forms of post-modernism, requires rules. Whether one is speaking of analytic, continental, medieval or classical philosophy, it requires rules. The rules put forth most often are the rules of thought, the laws of identity, negation, contradiction, etc.
Not to mention that math usually has objectives. Or, rather, at least as much as philosophy does. If philosophy is the attempt to uncover truth, then math is one aspect of that uncovering.
But my friend disagrees. And before I could sufficiently explain my points, the week-end turned into the new week and it was time for me cut and run. Studying needs to be done.
Alan Tudyk, who played Wash on Firefly, turned up on Dollhouse. He was precisely the right person for the role he played and pulled it off incredibly. His transformation from one persona to another before the viewer's eyes is exactly the sort of brilliance that makes me a Whedon fan.
Too bad the series has been hit or miss. Part of that blame lies with Fox. But some of the episodes that came out after the one Whedon marked as the pivotal point past which he was doing what he wanted were just kind of dumb.
I predict a big fat CANCELLED! come later this month. I hope I'm wrong. It's kind of a fun show and there aren't many shows on the tube these days that I think are actually fun.
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